The Clever Girl Called Alice
by blackkitten13
Summary: I am a shadow. Or at least, that's what I thought. My life isn't that normal for someone my age. I'm "weird" and "different" as many would call it. But I know where my heart and loyalties lie, unlike most people...with Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Now, this isn't their story. It's mine. This is the tale of a clever girl called Alice, otherwise known as...me.
1. The Young Shadow

**Chapter One: The Young Shadow**

* * *

Two people entered St. Bartholomew's Hospital Morgue on a seemingly normal day in London, England. The first was a man. He looked to be in his early thirties or late twenties. His curled hair was a dark shade of brown and his eyes were a blue greenish hue that made them look like they were made out of glass. He wore a normal suit with a thick, black coat over it and a blue scarf was tied around his neck.

The second was a girl, no older than ten, and was following the man like a shadow. Her hair was a darker shade than the man's and was pulled out of her face in a ponytail, with the exception of the few strands in her face. Her eyes were a dark color, midnight blue to be more specific. She wore a white dress shirt, a navy jumper with thin red stripes on the hems and neckline, a black skirt that went down to her knees where a pair of white socks picked up from there and ended with a pair of black Mary Jane shoes. Her coat was a dark blue also, and she had a worn out, old looking messenger bag slung across her chest. Both of them had paper white skin, and both of them were very much different, yet alike.

The two walked briskly into the morgue and calmly approached a table with a body bag laying on it.

Sherlock Holmes unzipped the body bag lying on the table and peered at the corpse inside. He sniffed the air released from the action.

"How fresh?" He asked as one of the pathologists, Molly Hooper, walked over.

"Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes," Molly answered. "He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice." Zipping the bag up again, Sherlock straightened up, turned to her and smiled falsely.

"Fine," Sherlock said as he turned to his shadow, "Alice, hand me the riding crop. We'll start with that."

* * *

Shortly afterwards, the body had been removed from the bag and was lying on its back on the table. Alice handed the riding crop to Sherlock and took a step back away from him. She watched silently, and even flinched a little, while Sherlock flogged the body repeatedly and violently with the riding crop. Molly ended up walking back into the room, which she had exited earlier, and as he finished and straightened up, breathless, she went over to him.

"So, bad day, was it?" Molly asked. Sherlock ignored her banter as Alice handed him a notebook and he started writing in it. Molly turned to Alice for an answer. The ten year old nodded.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes," said Sherlock as he wrote. "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

"Listen, I was wondering: maybe later, when you're finished..." Molly's voice trailed off at the end. Sherlock glanced across to Molly as he was writing, then did a double-take and frowned at her.

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before." Alice took a closer, unnoticed look. Molly was wearing lipstick.

"I...er...I refreshed it a bit." Molly smiled at him flirtatiously. Alice rolled her dark eyes as Sherlock gave Molly a long oblivious look, then went back to writing in his notebook.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," Molly said while gazing at him intently. Sherlock gave his notebook to Alice, who put it in her bag.

"Black, two sugars, please. We'll be upstairs." He walked away, his shadow following close behind.

* * *

The pair went upstairs to a chemistry lab, where Sherlock got quickly to work. He was standing at the far end of the lab using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of liquid onto a Petri dish as Alice watched him with great curiosity. There was a knock at the door and two men entered. Alice recognized the first as Mike, a man she and Sherlock had run into earlier. The second man was who caught her infamous curiosity. She began to stare at the blonde intently. Sherlock had glanced across at them briefly before looking back at his work again. The blonde limped into the room, looking around at all the equipment as a pair of sparkling dark eyes scanned him.

"Well, bit different from my day," said the man.

"You've no idea!" Mike said with a laugh.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock asked as he sat down, "There's no signal on mine or Alice's."

"And what's wrong with the landline?"

"I prefer to text."

"Sorry. It's in my coat." The blonde fished into his back pocket and took out his own phone.

"Er...here," the man said. "Use mine."

"Oh. Thank you," Sherlock replied. Glancing briefly at Mike, Sherlock stood up and walked towards the man.

"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson," said Mike. Sherlock reached out to John and took his phone from him. Turning partially away from him, he flipped open the keypad and started to type on it.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked while Alice smirked. John frowned, however. John looked at Sherlock as he continued to type.

"Sorry?" John said, a little bit confused.

"Where was it that you served– Afghanistan or Iraq?" echoed Alice. Sherlock briefly raised his eyes to Alice's and then to John's before looking back to the phone. John hesitated, then looked across to Mike, confused.

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?" Sherlock looked up as Molly came into the room holding a mug of coffee. Alice rolled her eyes again.

"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you," said Sherlock as he shut down John's phone and handed it back as Molly brought the mug over to him. Both of the darkly dressed duo looked closely at her as he took the mug. Her mouth was paler again. "What happened to the lipstick?"

"It wasn't working for me," Molly answered uncomfortably.

"Really?" Alice said, "I thought it was a really big improvement. Your mouth looks far too small now." Sherlock turned and walked back to his station, taking a sip from the mug, grimacing at the taste and shooting an unnoticeable glance at his shadow, which only Alice noticed.

"...Okay," said Molly as she turned and headed back towards the door.

"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked as Alice smirked again. John looked around at Molly, but she was on her way out the door. He glanced at Mike, who was smiling smugly, and finally realised that Sherlock was talking to him.

"I'm sorry, what?" John asked.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Alice is very curious and will often pry too deep into something personal. And sometimes I don't talk for days on end," said Sherlock as he typed on a laptop keyboard. He looked round at John. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He threw a hideously false smile at John, who looked at him blankly for a moment then looked across to Mike.

"Oh, you...you told them about me?" John asked.

"Not a word," Mike answered. John turned to Sherlock again.

"Then who said anything about flatmates?" Sherlock picked up his greatcoat and put it on. He handed Alice her own coat, and she slid it on.

"I did. Told Mike this morning that we must be very difficult people to find a flatmate for," Sherlock said, "Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" Sherlock ignored the question, wrapped his scarf around his neck, then picked up his mobile and checked it. Alice kept her mouth sealed when John looked at her for an answer, she only laughed a bit in response though.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it," Sherlock said as he and his shadow walked toward John.

"We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think Alice left my riding crop in the mortuary."

"I did," said Alice after briefly checking the contents of her bag. Putting his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, Sherlock walked past John and headed for the door. John turned to look at them.

"Is that it?" Sherlock turned back from the door and strolled closer to John again.

"Is that what?"

"We've only just met, and we're gonna go and look at a flat?"

"Problem?" John smiled in disbelief, as Alice shook her head and grinned. Sherlock was going to do it again.

"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name." Sherlock looked closely at John for a moment before speaking.

"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan." Sherlock said quickly as he began to tell John his own life story, "I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid." John looked down at his leg and cane and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" Sherlock turned back towards his shadow and walked to the door again, opened it and went through.

"His name is Sherlock Holmes and I am Alice Liddell." Sherlock's shadow said before following the taller one, "The address is 221B Baker Street." She smiled at John, then looked round at Mike.

"Alice!"

"See you tomorrow!" The shadow quickly left, following her partner.

* * *

The next day, the pair caught a cab over to 221B Baker Street. John was already waiting for them. Sherlock got out of the cab and Alice followed.

"Hello," the young girl said as she greeted Dr. Watson. Sherlock reached in through the window of the cab and handed some money to the cab driver.

"Thank you," Sherlock said as John turned towards him as he walked over.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," John said as he extended his hand.

"Sherlock, please. Alice already calls me that enough," Sherlock said as the men shook hands. Alice's dark eyes darted to the ground for a moment.

"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive," John said as he observed the building.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"

"Oh no. He ensured that Mr. Hudson was killed," Alice said as she smiled at John, who responded by giving her a weird look. The front door was opened by Mrs. Hudson, an elderly looking woman, who opened her arms to the younger man.

"Sherlock, Alice, hello," greeted Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock turned and walked into her arms, hugging her briefly, then stepped back and presented John to her.

"Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson," Sherlock said, introducing the two.

"Hello."

"How do?" John replied.

"Come in." Mrs. Hudson gestured the small trio inside.

"Thank you."

"Shall we?" asked Sherlock.

"Yeah," Mrs. Hudson said as the trio went inside, and she closed the door.

* * *

Alice sprinted up the stairs to the first floor, followed by Sherlock, who had trotted up the stairs after her, but then paused and waited for John to hobble upstairs. As John reached the top of the stairs, Alice opened the door ahead of them and walked in, revealing the living room of the flat. John and Sherlock followed her in, and John looked around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it.

"Well, this could be very nice," said the former solider, "Very nice indeed."

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely," Sherlock agreed as he looked around the flat happily. "So we went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out..." John said simultaneously. "Oh." He paused, embarrassed, as he realised what Sherlock was saying. "So this is all..."

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Sherlock walked across the room and made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then took some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he put them onto the mantelpiece and then stabbed a multi-tool knife into them. John had noticed something else on the mantelpiece and lifted his cane to point at it.

"That's a skull," said John.

"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend'..." Sherlock drifted off mid-sentence when he saw that Mrs. Hudson had followed them into the room. She picked up a cup and saucer as Sherlock took off his coat and scarf. Alice, however, had her eyes drifting out the window at the view outside. But she still listened to the conversation.

"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson?" Mrs. Hudson asked, "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

"Of course we'll be needing two. But don't you think that three would have been-" John said before Alice cut him off.

"I can sleep out here, Dr. Watson," The dark haired girl interrupted. "Believe me, I don't mind."

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here," Mrs. Hudson said before she lowered her voice to a whisper only John and Sherlock could hear. John looked across to Sherlock once Mrs. Hudson was finished speaking to him, as expecting him to confirm something, but Sherlock appeared oblivious to what was said. Mrs. Hudson walked across to the kitchen, then turned back and frowned at Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made." As she went into the kitchen and started tidying up, John walked over to one of the two armchairs, plumped up a cushion on the chair and then dropped heavily down into it. He looked across to Sherlock who was still tidying up a little and Alice glanced briefly at them both before looking back out at the window.

"I looked you up on the internet last night," John said after a moment's silence.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock said, turning to John.

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction." Sherlock smiled proudly.

"What did you think?" John threw him a "you have got to be kidding me" type of look. Sherlock looked hurt.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"That's because he can," Alice cut in before Sherlock could answer. "He can read your military career just by looking at your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits by looking at your mobile phone. I'm still trying to learn."

"You did it again," Sherlock said sharply.

"Sorry." Alice turned back to her window.

"How?" asked John. Sherlock smiled and turned away. Mrs Hudson came out of the kitchen reading the newspaper.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked, "I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Alice's eyes caught something pull up on the street next to the flat. She straightened up.

"Four," said Alice, "There has been a fourth suicide." Sherlock walked over to the window where Alice was sitting. He looked down at a car as someone got out of it. The vehicle was a police car with its lights flashing on the roof. "And that means that there must something different this time around."

"A fourth?" Sherlock turned as D.I. Lestrade, a young man with peppered hair, trotted up the stairs and came into the living room.

"Where?" Sherlock asked.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens," Lestrade answered.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get us if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yes...?" Alice said suspiciously.

"This one did," Lestrade said, "Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked.

"It's Anderson." Alice made an audibly loud groan, which caused Sherlock to look at her before brushing it off. Neither one of them particularly liked Anderson.

"Anderson won't work with either of us."

"Well, he won't be your assistant."

"I already have an assistant." Sherlock gestured towards the girl at the window. Alice waved a little bit.

"Will you come?"

"Not in a police car. We'll be right behind. Alice, grab your coat."

"I'm already wearing it." Alice answered, pulling on her collar.

"Thank you," Lestrade said. After looking round at John and Mrs Hudson for a moment, he turned and hurried off down the stairs. Both Sherlock and Alice waited until he had reached the front door. As they heard the front door slam shut, Sherlock twirled Alice in the air before placing her on the ground and clenched his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily.

"Brilliant!" Sherlock grinned, "Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" Picking up his scarf and coat, Sherlock started to put them on as he headed for the kitchen. Alice leapt after him with a slight grin on her face.

"Mrs. Hudson, We'll be late," she said, "We might need some food later on when we get back."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson said.

"Something cold will do," Sherlock said, picking up where Alice left off. "John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home."

"Don't wait up!" The pair said in unison. Grabbing a small leather pouch from the kitchen table, Sherlock opened the kitchen door and the duo disappeared from view. Halfway down the stairs, Sherlock stopped. Alice turned to him.

"You want to bring Dr. Watson along, don't you?" She asked.

"Yes I do." Sherlock turned and walked back up a few of the stairs before turning to his assistant. "Wait outside."

"You know I hate being outside alone."

"Then wait in the front hall." Sherlock walked back up the stairs as Alice went down the opposite way. once she reached the bottom, Alice leaned against the wall for a moment before Sherlock and John came down.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea," John called out to Mrs. Hudson, "Off out."

"All three of you?" Mrs. Hudson said as she walked to the bottom of the stairs. Sherlock had almost reached the front door but now turned and walked back towards her.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them?" Sherlock said with a grin, "There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He took Mrs. Hudson by the shoulders and kissed her noisily on the cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." Mrs. Hudson smiled, though, as he turned away and headed for the front door again.

"Who truly cares about being decent? I'm not decent! Decent makes life not worth living," said Alice with a now fully formed grin on her pale face.

"The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" said Sherlock as he walked out of the flat. Alice walked out onto the street after Sherlock, who hailed an approaching black cab.

"Taxi!" Sherlock shouted. The taxi pulled up alongside and he, Alice and John get in, then the car drove off again and headed for Brixton.

* * *

The trio sat in silence for a long time while Sherlock sat with his eyes fixed on his smartphone, and John kept stealing nervous glances at him. Finally Sherlock lowered his phone, especially after Alice nudged him a bit.

"Okay, you've got questions," said Sherlock. John looked over at him.

"Yeah, where are we going?" John asked.

"Obviously, we're going to a crime scene. Next?" Alice said before Sherlock.

"Alice," Sherlock said towards to younger girl.

"You were too slow."

"Who are you two?" John asked after the pair's argument finished. "What do you do?"

"What do you think?" Alice asked.

"I'd say private detective and assistant..." John said slowly while hesitating.

"But?" picked up Sherlock

"...but the police don't go to private detectives."

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job. And Alice is my...assistant of sorts, yes."

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is nearly close to always, they go to him," Alice explained, "I however, am just there to observe so I can take over the job when he retires." Sherlock shot her a look.

"The police don't consult amateurs." Alice smirked. Here we go again. Sherlock threw him the same look he gave Alice.

"When we met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised," The detective explained.

"Yes, how did you know?" The doctor asked.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious," Sherlock said, recalling John his life story, "Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." He loudly clicked the 'k' sound at the end of the final word.

"You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist."

"You forgot about his brother," Alice added.

"Hmm?" John hummed, a little confused by the manner of their speech. Alice held out her hand.

"Your phone, if you don't mind." John put the mobile in her hand, and the girl began to twirl it in her fingers. "It's expensive by the looks of it, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you definitely wouldn't waste money on something like this. It had to have been a gift, then." She turned it over and looked at it again as she spoke.

"There are scratches. Not just one scratch, many of them from over time. It has been in the same pocket as keys and coins and other such things I am not allowed to know about. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it had to have had a previous owner. Next bit is easy. You know it already."

"The engraving." Alice held up the phone to reveal an engraving on the back. It read: "Harry Watson From Clara xxx"

"Harry Watson is absolutely and quite clearly a family member who has given you his old phone." Alice continued, "It can't be your father because this is a young man's gadget. However, it could be from a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. It's very unlikely that you've got an extended family, and certainly not one you are close to anyway, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Just who is Clara? The three kisses say it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone clearly says wife and not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently because, if I remember correctly, this model is only six months old. Their marriage was in trouble then because it was six months on he's just gave it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. Most people do, sentimental values and all of that nonsense, but no, he wanted to get rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you, and that says he wants you to stay in touch. Now, back to the subject. You, Dr. Watson, are looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help which says that you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, or maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?"

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though," Sherlock said, taking the phone away from Alice, who just gaped there in surprise. "Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." He handed the phone back to John. "There you go, you see – you were right."

"I was right? Right about what?" said John, slightly less more confused then before.

"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock looked out of the side window, biting his lip nervously as he awaited John's reaction.

"That ... was amazing," John said, stunned. Sherlock looked round, apparently so surprised that he couldn't even reply for the next four seconds. So Alice did.

"Do you truly think so?" said Alice with a smug grin.

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock finally responded.

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'!" The detective and his assistant said in unison. Sherlock smiled briefly at John, who grinned and turned away to look out of the window as the journey continued. Alice just laughed.

* * *

The cab soon arrived at Lauriston Gardens and Sherlock, Alice and John got out and walked towards the police tape strung across the road.

"Did we get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have," John confirmed. "Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker." Sherlock looked impressed with himself.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect we'd be right about everything."

"And Harry's short for Harriet," Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.

"Harry's your sister." Alice suppressed a laugh as she and John continued onwards.

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked.

"Sister!" Sherlock exclaimed furiously through gritted teeth.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" Sherlock, exasperated, started to walk again

"There's always something, you got to remember that!" Alice said. They approached the police tape where they were met by Sergeant Donovan, a woman with curly dark hair.

"Hello, freak. Oh, look. Your little shadow's here too," Donovan said as she greeted Sherlock and Alice.

"Shadow?" whispered John.

"I've followed Sherlock around since I first met him five years ago," explained Alice, "I repeated nearly his every movement back then, so they called me his shadow. The name stuck." John nodded.

"We're here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock said as he completely ignored the two behind him.

"Why?" Donovan asked.

"We were invited."

"Why?"

"I think he wants us to take a look at the crime scene," Alice said sarcastically. Despite her age, Alice was surprisingly mature...most of the time.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" Donovan said smugly. Sherlock lifted the tape and ducked underneath it.

"Always, Sally," Sherlock said. He held the tape up longer as Alice walked underneath. He breathed in through his nose. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't..." Donovan stuttered before she looked at John. "Er, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson," Sherlock said, turning to John. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend." The last few words reeked with sarcasm.

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague?! What, did he follow you home? Just like your shadow?" Alice stuffed her hands furiously in the pockets of her coat, to conceal the fists they were now balling into.

"Would it be better if Alice and I just waited and..." John said as Sherlock lifted the tape for him.

"No," Sherlock said, "As for Alice, she has always come to a crime scene with me for the past five years." As John walked under the tape, his mouth open in shock, Donovan lifted a radio to her mouth.

"Freak and Shadow are here. Bringing them in," Donovan said into the radio. She lead the trio towards the house. Sherlock looked all around the area and at the ground as they approached. As they reached the pavement, a man dressed in a coverall came out of the house.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again," Sherlock said with poison his voice. Anderson looked at him and then to Alice with certain distaste.

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated, especially by children," Anderson said. Alice briefly stuck her tongue out at him before Sherlock noticed. Like I said, she may have been mature, but Alice was still a child. "Are we clear on that?" Sherlock took in another deep breath through his nose.

"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" The man asked.

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told him that," Alice said smugly. "Wasn't that clear, Anderson?"

"My deodorant?" Alice grinned with flames in her eyes.

"It was made for men."

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"

"If I recall, Sergeant Donovan is also wearing it, too." Alice suppressed her large urge to laugh, but ended up losing to that when she laughed quietly and evilly under her breath. Sherlock shot her a look but didn't stop her. Anderson looked round in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffed pointedly.

"Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May we go in?" Sherlock said. He tapped Alice on the shoulder, which got her to stop laughing. Anderson turned back and pointed at her angrily.

"Now look, little girl: whatever you're trying to imply..."

"She's not implying anything," Sherlock said quickly as he headed past Donovan toward the front door. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over-" He turned back- "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." Anderson and Donovan stared at him in horror. He and Alice smiled smugly, then Sherlock turned and went into the house. John and Alice walked past Donovan, and John, briefly but pointedly looking down to her knees, then followed Sherlock inside. Sherlock lead them into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade was putting on a coverall. Sherlock pointed to a pile of similar items.

"You need to wear one of these," Sherlock instructed. Lestrade pointed to Alice.

"Are you sure that bringing a child to a crime scene is a good idea?" Lestrade asked.

"She's seen more gruesome things before and handled it perfectly fine. And I never go anywhere without my shadow." Lestrade made a slightly audible sigh before turning to John. Alice grinned. Seeing this, Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned in.

"Alice," he said in a voice only she could hear. "We are at a crime scene. Try to behave." Hearing this, Alice stopped grinning and returned to her mature state. Sherlock took his hands off her shoulders.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asked, gesturing over to John.

"He's with us," said Sherlock as he removed his gloves.

"But who is he?"

"I said he's with us." John took his jacket off and picked up a coverall. He looked at Sherlock, who had picked up a pair of latex gloves.

"Aren't you two gonna put one on?" John asked, referring to the coveralls. Sherlock and Alice just looked at him sternly. John shook his head as if to say, 'Silly me. What was I thinking?!'

"So where are we?" Sherlock said to Lestrade. Lestrade picked up another pair of latex gloves.

"Upstairs."


	2. The Crime Scene

**Chapter Two: The Crime Scene**

* * *

Lestrade lead the trio up a circular staircase. He and John were wearing coveralls together with white cotton coverings over their shoes, and latex gloves. Sherlock was putting latex gloves on as they went up the stairs, and Alice only had a small notebook and pen in her hands.

"I can give you two minutes," Lestrade said.

"I believe we might need longer than two minutes," Alice said as she opened to a fresh page. Lestrade gave a look towards Alice that Sherlock usually gave her whenever she interrupted his deductions, which was often.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards," He continued, "We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."

* * *

He lead them into a room two stories above the ground floor. The room was empty of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner. Emergency portable lighting had been set up, presumably by the police. Scaffolding poles held up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes had been knocked through one of the walls. A woman's body was lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She was wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes. Her hands were flat on the floor either side of her head. Sherlock walked a few steps into the room and then stopped, holding one hand out in front of himself as he focused on the corpse. Behind him, John looked at the woman's body and his face filled with pain and sadness. Alice remained calm through the whole thing, even though she was still just a child. The four of them stood there silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looked across to Lestrade.

"Shut up," Sherlock said to him.

"I didn't say anything," Lestrade said, startled.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Alice giggled a bit under her breath. "Alice."

"Sorry," Alice said as she strode up to Sherlock. Lestrade and John exchanged a surprised look as Sherlock stepped slowly forward until he reached the side of the corpse. Alice followed, writing down everything she had observed. Their attention was immediately drawn to the fact that scratched into the floorboards by the woman's left hand is the word "Rache". Their eyes looked up to the corpse's fingernails where the index and middle nails were broken and ragged at the ends with the nail polish chipped, in stark comparison to her other nails which were still immaculate. The woman's index finger rested at the bottom of the 'e' as if she was still trying to carve the word into the floor when she died. Sherlock looked back to the word carved into the floorboards and instantly he shook his head in a tiny dismissive movement. Simultaneously, Alice crossed something out in her book. Sherlock looked at the carved word again. He then squatted down beside the body and ran his gloved hand along the back of her coat, then lifted his hand again to look at his fingers. Alice noticed the wetness on them. Sherlock reached into her coat pockets and found a white folding umbrella in one of them. Running his fingers along the folds of the material, he then inspected his glove again. Putting the umbrella back into her pocket, he moved up to the collar of her coat and ran his fingers underneath it before once again looking at his fingers. Sherlock extended his hand towards Alice. She fished a small magnifier from her bag and handed it to him. Sherlock clicked it open and closely inspected the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist, then the gold earring attached to her left ear and then the gold chain around her neck before moving on to look at the rings on her left ring finger. The wedding ring and engagement ring flagged a different message to them. Sherlock blinked as a rapid succession of conclusions most likely appeared in front of his eyes. Carefully Sherlock worked the wedding ring off the woman's finger and held it up to look at the inside of the ring. As Sherlock lowered the ring, he allowed Alice a glimpse at it. While the outside of the ring was dirty, the inside was clean. Sherlock slid it back onto the woman's finger, he had already reached a conclusion about the ring. Lifting his hands away from the woman, he looked down at her and makes his final deduction about her. The pair smiled slightly in satisfaction.

"Got anything?" asked Lestrade.

"Not much," Sherlock said nonchalantly. Standing up, he took the gloves off and then got his mobile phone from his pocket and began typing on it.

"She's German," Anderson said from where he was standing in the doorway. "'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something..." As he had been speaking, Alice walked quickly towards the door and began to close it in Anderson's face.

"Yes, thank you for your opinion. It as a real great help," she said sarcastically, before slamming the door shut. "Idiot." She turned and walked back into the room.

"Thank you, Alice," Sherlock said as he scrolled through his phone.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night..." He smiled smugly as he apparently found the information he needed. "...before returning home to Cardiff." He pocketed the phone. "So far, so obvious."

"Sorry – obvious?" said John, still confused

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock ignored him and looked at John.

"Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?" asked John.

"What do you think of the body? You're a familiar with the medical field, correct?" Alice said as she clicked her pen shut.

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside," Lestrade said, pointing towards the door.

"They won't work with either of us," Sherlock pointed out.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you two in here."

"Yes...because you need us." Lestrade stared at him for a moment, then lowered his eyes helplessly.

"Yes, I do. God help me."

"Doctor Watson."

"Hm?" John hummed. He looked up from the body to Sherlock and Alice, then turned his head towards Lestrade, silently seeking his permission.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself," Lestrade said as he turned and opened the door, going outside. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minute." Sherlock, Alice and John walked over to the body. Sherlock squatted down on one side of it and John painfully lowered himself to one knee on the other side, leaning heavily on his cane to support himself. Alice kneeled beside John.

"Well?" asked Sherlock.

"What am I doing here?" John whispered.

"Helping me make a point." Sherlock whispered back.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

"Yeah, well, this is more fun," Alice whispered. John gave her a funny look.

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead, and you're no more than nine years old."

"My age is ten years, Dr. Watson."

"I've made my point, either way."

"That is a perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper," Sherlock said, completely ignoring the argument over Alice's age. As Lestrade came back into the room and stood just inside the doorway, John dragged his other leg down into a kneeling position and then leaned forward to look more closely at the woman's body. He put his head close to hers and sniffed, then straightened a little before lifting her right hand and looking at the skin. He knelt up and looked across to Sherlock.

"Yeah..." John said after his observation, "Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

"You should clearly know what it was that killed her. I'm sure that you have read the papers," said Alice as she stood.

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth...?"

"I believe that's what I said back at the flat..."

"Sherlock – two minutes, I said." Lestrade said, a little angry, "I need anything you've got." Sherlock stood up as Alice helped a struggling John to his feet. Alice tossed her notebook to him. Sherlock caught it and read what she wrote. Nodding, he handed it back to her.

"Victim is in her late thirties." Sherlock said. John looked over at Alice's notebook. She had written down every observation that was made. Alice closed the book before John could read anymore. She glared and him before sliding it in her coat's pocket.

"Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." Sherlock continued.

"Suitcase?" asked a confused Lestrade. John looked around the room, searching for the object in question.

"Yes, a suitcase, Lestrade." Alice said as she walked over to the detective inspector. She stared at him in the eyes for a brief moment before walking over to Sherlock's side. "She also had been married at least ten years, but not very happily. She had a string of lovers, but I assume that none of them knew she was married."

"Alice. Stop that."

"Sorry."

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up..." Lestrade said to the pair. Sherlock pointed down to her left hand.

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"That's brilliant." John said admirably. Sherlock looked round at him. "Sorry."

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, it is quite obvious, isn't it?" Alice said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's not obvious to me." John said. Sherlock paused as he looked at the other two males.

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains?" He said to them, "It must be so boring. The only one who understands other than myself is a ten year old girl." He turned back to the body. "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" He got his phone from his pocket and showed to the other two the webpage he was looking at earlier, displaying the day's weather for the southern part of Britain. "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" exclaimed John in disbelief.

"Did you know you did that out loud?" Alice said with her voice lower.

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

"No, it's...fine." Sherlock said before Alice could even respond.

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock spun around in a circle to look around the room.

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?"

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German!" Alice said sarcastically as she walked over to Lestrade. "Of course she was writing Rachel! There's no other word it could be. The only question is that why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"Alice." The girl sighed.

"Sorry."

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked once more. Sherlock pointed down to the body, where her tights had small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg.

"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left." He explained, "She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night." Sherlock squatted down by the woman's body and examined the backs of her legs more closely. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case." Slowly Sherlock raised his head and frowned up at Lestrade. Alice gave him a blank stare.

"I don't think I heard you right, Lestrade," asked Alice. "Could you say that again?"

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade repeated. "There was never any suitcase." Alice's dark eyes and Sherlock's light ones locked as the same idea entered their brains. Immediately, Sherlock straightened up and both of them headed for the door, with Sherlock calling out to all the police officers in the house as they began to hurry down the stairs.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" Sherlock asked the officers. Lestrade and John followed him out and stopped on the landing.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade called down towards the pair. Sherlock and Alice began slowing down, but still making their way down the stairs.

"But they all took the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. Each and every one of them." Alice recited quickly. "There are very clear signs, all of them are quite clear. I'm sure that even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks! And...?"

"It's murder, all of them. Neither of us know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings." Sherlock held his hands up in front of his face in delight as Alice grinned brightly. "We've got ourselves a serial killer."

"Oh, I absolutely love those!" Alice said with delight. "They always give me something to look forward to. Everything else is just so boring!"

"Why are you saying that?!" Lestrade said in shock, "Sherlock, what did you do to this girl?" Sherlock stopped.

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?" He called up to them. "Someone else was here, and they took her case. And I did nothing to Alice, she's just like that." Sherlock lowered his voice so only his assistant could hear him. "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car." Alice nodded in agreement.

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." suggested John. Sherlock looked up the stairs again.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking..." He stopped talking as realised something.

"Oh." His eyes widened and his face lit up. "Oh!" He clapped his hands over Alice's in delight.

"Sherlock!" called out John.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade said, confused by the two's actions. Sherlock smiled cheerfully to himself "Serial killers are always hard, aren't they Alice? You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!"

"We are finished waiting!" Alice called up as the duo started to hurry down the stairs again.

"Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake." Sherlock said excitedly. "Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" They reached the bottom of the stairs and disappeared from view.

"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Sherlock came back into view and ran up a couple of stairs so that he can be seen before he yells up to Lestrade.

"PINK!" He yelled before running after his shadow.

* * *

"So, where to now?" Alice asked as she and Sherlock exited the crime scene excitedly.

"Give it to me, Alice." said Sherlock with his hand extended. Alice sighed and took Lestrade's badge from her pocket. She slapped it in Sherlock's hand before he pocketed it himself.

"Old habits die hard, eh?"

"You'll be heading back to Baker Street." answered Sherlock ignoring what Alice had just said and answering her earlier question, "I need to find that case. Can you do that without disobeying me?"

"Yes but..." Alice shuddered at the thought of the memory. Sherlock turned to her.

"That was five years ago. I doubt that they're still looking for you."

"Yeah, but...what if they are?"

"You'll be fine." Alice and Sherlock split up there, with Alice heading for home.


	3. Her Case

**Chapter Three: Her Case**

* * *

Alice was paranoid. Her mind kept saying that they were coming for her, but Alice kept dismissing it. As she turned onto Baker Street, she heard something approaching her. Alice quickly turned, her hair whipping her face. There were two figures walking behind her. Alice quickened her pace - and so did the figures. A cold sweat ran down the girl's face.

'One. Two. Three.'

Alice, with a sudden burst of speed, began sprinting down the street and the two figures began pursuing her. Luckily, 221B was close by.

"Dr. Watson!" Alice said with relief when she saw the doctor at the door. John turned to face her as she jogged up to him.

"Alice?" He asked, "Shouldn't you be with Sherlock, and why are you paler than normal?" Alice looked back. No one was there.

"He said he had to do something. He sent me home." John nodded as the two entered the flat.

* * *

John and Alice came through the door to their flat, but John stopped and stared as Sherlock, who was laying on the sofa, repeatedly clenched and unclenched his left fist. Alice dismissed it and leaned slightly against the door. She was fatigued, and besides, it was normal Sherlock behavior.

"What are you doing?" asked John.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think," Sherlock said. He lifted his right hand to show that he had three round nicotine patches stuck onto his arm. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brainwork." He loudly clicked the 'k' on 'work'. John walked further into the room.

"It's good news for your health and breathing," said Alice with a slight laugh. "I don't want you dying on me."

"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring." John frowned as he looked more closely at Sherlock's arm.

"Is that three patches?" He asked. Sherlock pressed his hands together into the prayer position under his chin.

"It's a three-patch problem." Alice rolled her eyes. Like hell it was a 'three patch problem'. She really needed to get rid of those patches one day. Sherlock closed his eyes. John looked around the room for a moment, then looked down at Sherlock again. Alice walked over to one of the armchairs and used it to prop herself up.

"Well?" John said. Sherlock didn't respond. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important. Not to mention your assistant came running up to me like she saw a ghost!" Sherlock still didn't respond instantly, but after a couple of seconds his eyes snapped open. He didn't bother turning his head to look at John, but instead looked at Alice through the corner of his eye. She nodded to him.

"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?"

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website."

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone. Alice has one."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear, and Alice won't let me touch hers."

"It's true. I won't," The dark haired girl said with a grin.

"I was the other side of London," John said angrily.

"There was no hurry," replied Sherlock mildly. John glared at him as he gazed serenely at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. Eventually John dug his phone out of his jacket pocket and held it out towards him.

"Here." Without opening his eyes, Sherlock held out his right hand with the palm up. John glowered at him for a moment, then stepped forward and slapped the phone into his hand. Sherlock slowly lifted his arm and put his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms. John turned and walked a few paces away before turning around again. "So what's this about – the case?"

"Her case."

"Her case?" said Alice curiously with a yawn. Sherlock opened his eyes.

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case," John said, "So?"

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it," Sherlock said quietly to himself. Raising his voice a little, he imperiously held the phone out toward John, still not looking at him.

"On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text." John half-smiled in angry disbelief.

"You brought me here...to send a text." Alice stifled a laugh, which wasn't hard.

"Text, yes. The number on my desk," Sherlock continued to hold the phone out while John glowered at him, possibly wondering if he could get away with justifiable homicide. Eventually he stomped across the room and snatched the phone from Sherlock's hand. Sherlock refolded his hands under his chin and closed his eyes but instead of going to the table, John walked over to the window and looked out of it into the street below. Sherlock opened his eyes and tilted his head slightly towards him.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"Just met a friend of yours," John answered. Sherlock frowned in confusion.

"A friend?"

"An enemy." Sherlock immediately relaxed.

"Which one?" asked Alice. She laid her head down on the back of the armchair. "He has at least...well I can't remember. I lost track around...what? 142?"

"His arch-enemy, according to him." John turned toward Sherlock. "Do people have arch-enemies?" Sherlock looked towards him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Did he offer you money to spy on us?" Sherlock said.

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

"Who is he?"

"The most annoying and dangerous man you've ever met, and not our problem right now..." Alice muttered loudly. She caught Sherlock giving her a look. "Well, it's true."

"I know, and I agree about being him being dangerous," Sherlock said before turning his attention back towards John. "On my desk, the number." John gave him a dark look but Sherlock had already looked away again so John walked over to the desk and picked up a piece of paper taken from a luggage label. He looked at the name on the paper.

"Jennifer Wilson," He read. Alice looked over at the label. "That was...Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." Shaking his head, John got his phone out and started to type the number onto it.

"Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Have you done it?"

"Ye-hang on!" Alice giggled a bit at John's frustration. To her, any frustration besides her own was amusing.

"These words exactly: "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.'"John started to type but looked briefly across to Sherlock as if he was concerned at what he just said. Sherlock continued his narration. "'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'" John looked across to Sherlock again, frowning. Alice raised one of her dark eyebrows in confusion.

"You of all people blacked out?" Alice said in disbelief.

"What? No. No!" Sherlock flipped his legs around and stood up, taking the shortest route toward the kitchen – which involved walking over the coffee table beside the sofa rather than around it. "Type and send it. Quickly." Going into the kitchen, he picked up a small pink suitcase from a chair and brought it back into the living room. Walking over to the dining table, he lifted one of the dining chairs and flipped it around, setting it down in front of the armchair Alice was leaning against. He put the suitcase onto the dining chair and sat down in the armchair. John was still typing.

"Have you sent it?" Sherlock asked.

"What's the address?"

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" John finished the message, then looked around as Sherlock unzipped the case and flipped open the lid, revealing the contents. Alice leaned over to take a quick glance. There were a few items of clothing and underwear – all in varying shades of pink – a washbag, and a paperback novel by Paul Bunch entitled "Come To Bed Eyes". As John turned towards the case he staggered slightly in shock as he realised what he was looking at.

"That's...that's the pink lady's case," John said in shock, "That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

"Yes, obviously," Sherlock said while studying the object in question. As John continued to stare, Sherlock looked up at him and then rolled his eyes.

"Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn't kill her. Neither did my shadow." Alice sighed at the nickname.

"I never said either of you did."

"Why not?" yawned Alice once more, "Given the text he just had you send combined with the fact we that have her case, it's a perfectly explainable conclusion to me."

"Do people usually assume you two are the murderers?" Sherlock smirked.

"Now and then, yes. Mostly me, though," He answered as he put his hands onto the arms of the armchair and lifted his feet up and under him so that he was perching on the seat with his backside braced against the backrest, then clasped his hands under his chin.

"Okay..." John limped across the room and dropped heavily into the armchair on the other side of the fireplace. "How did you get this?"

"By looking," Sherlock answered.

"Where?" John repeated.

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"Pink," Alice said as she put more of her weight against the chair, "You got of all that because you realised that the case would be pink? That makes no sense, even to me."

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously. I'm surprised you didn't see it. Maybe you need to read a little bit more."

"I'm ten years old, Sherlock. I do notice things, but I don't notice everything."

"Why didn't I think of that?" John muttered to himself.

"It is because you're an idiot?" John looked across to the girl, surprised to hear such words come from someone like her. Sherlock noticed them and made a placatory gesture with one hand.

"No, no, no, don't look like that," said he, "Practically everyone is." Sherlock refolded his hands and then extended his index fingers to point at the case. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"

"From the case? How could I?" said John. Alice leaned in, steadying herself on the back of the chair.

"I can't see anything," said the girl, "It looks like a normal suitcase to me." Sherlock gave her a look.

"Her phone. Where's her mobile phone?" he said, "There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one – that's her number there; you just texted it."

"Maybe she left it at home," John suggested. Sherlock put his hands onto the arms of the chair and raised himself up so that he could lower his feet to the floor, then sat down properly on the chair.

"She has a-"

"Had," Alice corrected, "If I recall, Jennifer Wilson is dead. You meant to say had." Sherlock shot a glare at Alice before continuing.

"She _had_ string of lovers, and she _was_ careful about it. She never _left _her phone at home." he said, emphasizing each past tense word, as he put the slip of paper back into the luggage label on the case and looked at John expectantly.

"Er…" John muttered as he looked down at his mobile phone, which he had put onto the arm of his chair. "Why did I just send that text?" Alice laughed tiredly, which actually made her sound as if she was drunk.

"Silly John," she laughed, "The only question that remains is who has the phone?" Sherlock looked over at the girl.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked.

"She ran all the way back here from Lauriston Gardens," explained John, "She must be oxygen deficient for the moment as well as having fatigue. She'll be fine."

"You're the doctor, but Alice is right. Where is her phone now?"

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or...?

"The murderer…" said John slowly before he realized what Sherlock was talking about. "You think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason," said Sherlock, "Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?" As if on cue, John's phone began to ring. He picked it up and looked at the caller I.D. before looking across to Sherlock as the phone continued to ring.

"A few hours after their latest victim bites it," giggled Alice, "And then they get a text that can only be from her! Most likely if some random moron just found the phone, they would just ignore that text. However, the murderer-" She paused as the phone stopped ringing- "Would of course panic!"

Sherlock flipped the lid of the suitcase closed and stood up, walking across the room to pick up his jacket. Alice took her chance and fell into the chair where the detective had once been. John continued to stare down at his phone as Sherlock put on his jacket on and walked towards the door.

"Have you talked to the police?" John asked, finally looking up.

"Four people are dead," said Sherlock, "There isn't time to talk to the police."

"So why are you talking to me?" Sherlock reached behind the door to take his greatcoat from the hook. He looked across towards John and Alice before noticing that something was missing from the mantelpiece. He then looked towards his giggling, tired assistant.

"Mrs Hudson took my skull. And Alice is about to fall asleep any second."

"What?" Alice laughed, although offended, "Sherlock, I'm not going to-"

"Five...four...three...two...one." On the last number, Alice's giggling ceased as her eyelids finally gave out into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Long after Sherlock left, Alice was awoken by a hand she knew too well. Her midnight blues opened slowly. She didn't even have to move from her spot to see who it was.

"Don't touch me," she hissed as she sat up to meet the face of Lestrade, "Why are you even here?"

"Drugs bust," the Inspector said simply. Alice pulled her feet up onto the chair and looked around quickly. There were other policemen and women around the flat.

"Get out." The Inspector looked at the little girl. "There's nothing here that would categorize as something that you would consider 'drugs'. I know what you want. Get out."

"I'm not listening to a little girl. When you were younger, maybe. But not now."

"...I will bite you, Lestrade. I'm not afraid to." Lestrade laughed.

"I'm not Anderson." That's when Alice heard the sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs. She mouth curled into a smirk. Sherlock burst through the door, John following him. They both walked into the living room. Sherlock stormed over to Lestrade with an angry look on his face.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock snapped.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case," said Lestrade, "I'm not stupid." Alice sighed.

"You can't just break into my flat."

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat."

"Well, I didn't let you in, and I doubt that Mrs. Hudson did," said Alice. "So therefore, you broke in. That's the term, isn't it? Entering private property without permission?"

"She's right," said Sherlock, "And what do you call this?" Lestrade looked round at his officers and Alice before looking back to Sherlock innocently.

"It's a drugs bust," he said simply. Alice felt like both laughing and groaning with frustration.

"Seriously?!" John said in surprise, "This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!" Sherlock turned and walked closer to John, biting his lip nervously. Alice shifted uncomfortably.

"Dr. Watson…" Alice said, drawing a line across her throat. John ignored her.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."

"John, you probably want to shut up now," Sherlock said sharply.

"Yeah, but come on…" He looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock held his gaze for a long moment, and John realised how serious he was being. John looked at Alice, who shrugged innocently before shifting again.

"No."

"What?"

"You?"

"Shut up!" Sherlock said with slight anger before he turned back to Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog," said Lestrade, nodding towards the kitchen. Alice raised an eyebrow before looking over the chair.

"What, An…" The closed doors to the kitchen slid open and revealed several more officers in there searching through the room. Anderson, who was among them turned towards the living room and raised his hand in sarcastic greeting. Alice rolled her dark orbs.

"Great…" she said sarcastically, "Looks who here. Hello, Anderson. What the heck are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh, I volunteered," the officer said venomously to the child. Sherlock turned away, biting his lip angrily. Alice dug her fingernails into the arm of the chair.

"They all did," Lestrade explained, "They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Donovan then came out of the kitchen holding a small glass jar with some white round objects in it. Alice looked over to see that she was holding a jar of eyes.

"Are these human eyes?" Donovan asked.

"Put those back!" snapped Sherlock.

"They were in the microwave!"

"It's an experiment."

"Keep looking, guys," said Lestrade as he turned to Sherlock. "Or you could help us properly, and I'll stand them down."

"You're acting like a child," Alice muttered, crossing her arms.

"I am dealing with two children." Alice stuck her tongue out briefly at the inspector. "This is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Either of you. Clear?" Sherlock glared at Lestrade.

"Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"It stops being pretend if they find anything." Alice stood up with her hands openly balling up, unlike when she had shoved them into her coat earlier.

"Sherlock Holmes is entirely clean," she said, getting angrier by the word. "And I know for a fact that he is. I checked everywhere when we moved in to this flat! This is a waste of your time. You should be trying to find Jennifer Wilson's killer!"

"Is this flat? All of it? He could have snuck something in."

"Oh please," cut in Sherlock, "I don't even smoke." He unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve and pulled it up to show the nicotine patch on his lower arm.

"Neither do I," Lestrade added. He pulled up the right sleeve of his own shirt to show a similar patch on his arm. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away as they both pulled their sleeves back down again. Alice rolled her eyes and walked away from the chair and stood beside Sherlock and John, who had been strangely silent.

"Would you two work together? You know what they say, two heads are better than one." There was silence between them until Lestrade spoke.

"We've found Rachel," he said.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind that," cut in Anderson, "We found the case." He pointed to the pink suitcase in the living room. Alice had completely forgotten about it. "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath." Alice's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson," said Sherlock in a sharp tone. "I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." He turned back to Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead," said Lestrade.

"Excellent!" Alice exchanged a look with a startled John. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." John grimaced sadly and turned away. Sherlock, on the other hand, just looked confused. Alice blinked several times.

"That makes no sense…" Alice commented. "Why would Ms. Wilson do that? Why would she-"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?"Anderson cut in again. "Yup – Sherlock is imprinting himself on the girl."

"Shut up!" Alice snapped as she turned on her heel to face the man. "She probably wasn't thinking about her daughter. All she did was scratch her name on the floor, with her fingernails may I remind you. It would have hurt. Why don't you think?"

"Why don't you let the adults handle this? You're not important anymore. You don't have to be part of this case." Alice's body tensed with anger as she took a step towards the man insulting her. However, Sherlock held her back.

"Calm yourself," said the detective as he released his assistant. Alice sighed angrily.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it," John said, repeating an earlier observation. "Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow." Sherlock turned to him.

"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset? I know I wouldn't." John stared at him. Alice blinked out of pure confusion for the last statement. Sherlock hesitated as he realised that everyone in the flat has stopped what they're doing and has fallen silent. It was most likely at the last saying. He glanced around the room and then looks awkwardly at John. "Not good?" Alice shook her head.

"I'm just confused…" she said. Sherlock shook it off and stepped closer to John and Alice, looking at them intently.

"Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?" he asked.

"'Please, God, let me live,'" John said instantly.

"Oh, use your imagination!"

"I don't have to." Alice looked over at Dr. Watson. He had a painful look on his face. Then, she remembered that John had been an army doctor. He had faced death before.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson was running all those lovers: she was clever," Sherlock continued, beginning to pace across the room. "She was trying to tell us something." Mrs. Hudson then came to the door of the living room.

"Isn't the doorbell working?" she said, "Your taxi's here, Sherlock."

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." He continued pacing as Mrs. Hudson looked around the room.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

"Drugs bust…" Alice muttered.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers." Alice raised an eyebrow, confused by the situation. With his back to the door, Sherlock stopped his pacing.

"Shut up, everybody, shut up!" he shouted. "Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off."

"What? My face is?!" said Anderson as Alice held back a laugh.

"Everybody quiet and still," Lestrade ordered. "Anderson, turn your back."

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"Your back, now, please!" Anderson groaned, but complied.

"Come on, think. Quick!" Sherlock muttered loudly to himself.

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"MRS HUDSON!" Sherlock shouted, turning towards his landlady. She went to turn and hurry away down the stairs, but Alice stopped her.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson," said the ten year old. "I'll do it." Before the old woman could say anything, Alice turned and headed down the stairs.

* * *

Alice sighed as she went down the stairs. The door was still open and cabbie stood there. He was an old man and looked like he was not native to London.

"I'm sorry, but Sherlock Holmes did not call for any taxi. Please leave," Alice stated. She went to close the door, but the cabbie held it open.

"Who are you to say so?" he asked. Alice blinked several times.

"Alice Liddell. I'm Mr. Holmes' assistant." The cabbie smirked and pulled something out of his pocket that made Alice's midnight eyes go wide for a split second. She then sighed. "Are you really going to do this?"

"Yes. Now move."

* * *

"It's here. It's in two two one Baker Street…" Alice heard John say as she was forced up the stairs.

"How can it be here? How?" said Sherlock's voice.

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere," Lestrade's voice added.

"What, and I didn't notice it? Me? I didn't notice?"

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back," added John.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim…" Lestrade ordered. By now, the cabbie and Alice had reached the top of the stairs. Alice looked over at Sherlock, blinking rapidly. Sherlock was standing lost in thought in the flat and did not see her. Alice prayed silently for him to turn around. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice could see the taxi driver take out a pink smartphone from his pocket and pressing the screen to send a text. A moment later, Sherlock's own phone trilled a text alert. Taking his phone from his jacket pocket, he looked at the message. As Sherlock turned his head towards the door, the taxi driver turned Alice around and calmly headed off down the stairs with the assistant as his hostage and bargaining chip. As she was forced outside, Alice could hear Sherlock hurrying down the stairs after them.


	4. A Study in Pink

**Chapter Four: A Study in Pink**

* * *

Alice watched as Sherlock opened the front door and stood on the doorstep for a moment as he shrugged himself into his coat. Alice narrowed her eyes at him for his cool attitude. Alice was held at the taxi with the cabbie holding her by the shoulder. The cabbie was leaning casually against it.

"Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes," said the cabbie in an cockney accent. Sherlock stepped forward, closing the door behind him.

"I didn't order a taxi," he said simply. Alice growled silently within her throat. She began blinking again.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one."

"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street." Alice raised an eyebrow. Had she missed something important when Sherlock and John had left the flat? "It was you, not your passenger."

"See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer." Alice tensed as Sherlock took a few more steps forward and looked up towards the windows of the flat.

"Is this a confession?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise. I won't hurt the girl, either." Alice wanted to run herself by now, but her body remained in its place.

"Why?"

"'Cause you're not gonna do that."

"Is he?" Alice finally said. "You don't know Sherlock like I do. He would-" The cabbie dug his fingers into her shoulder, making Alice become silent. Sherlock didn't even flinch.

"Am I not?" said Sherlock.

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes," the cabbie continued. "I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing." He leaned forward. "I will never tell you what I said." Sherlock stared at him. Alice stared at Sherlock. She knew that he was going to risk her life, as he had done many times. After a moment, the cabbie straightened up and started to walk around the front of the cab, still gripping onto Alice and bring her with him.

"No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result," Sherlock cut in. The cabbie stopped and turned back towards him.

"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?" He turned again and continued around to the driver's door. He opened the rear door, shoving Alice in. He then got into the driver's seat, and closed the door, settling into his seat and ignoring Sherlock. Alice looked out of the window, watching as Sherlock walked closer to the cab, looking up again at the flat windows, then he bent and looked into the open side window of the cab.

"If I wanted to understand, what would I do?" he asked.

"Let me take you and your assistant for a ride," the cabbie said as he turned towards Sherlock.

"So you can kill us too?" Alice tensed further.

"I don't wanna kill either of you, Mr. 'olmes. I'm gonna talk to yer... and then you're gonna kill yourself as for her… She'll be left alone." He turned to face the front again. Alice held back the urge to let tears slip from her eyes. Sherlock straightened up, his eyes lost in thought as he considered the situation. The cabbie calmly sat gazing out of the front window, then smiled in satisfaction as the rear door opened. Alice moved slightly to make room for Sherlock. The cab dipped as Sherlock got in and then the door slammed shut. The cabbie started the engine as Alice dug her fingers into seat.

* * *

In the cab, Alice kept her eyes on Sherlock, who was watching the London scenery pass by. What the heck was he doing? Was he trying to get her killed? Of course… this wouldn't be the first time. Alice began tapping her fingers against the seat.

"How did you find me?" Sherlock eventually said.

"Oh, I recognised yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes!" said the cabbie. Alice tapped faster. "I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!"

"Who warned you about me?"

"Just someone out there who's noticed you."

"Who?" Sherlock leaned forward. He tapped in response to Alice.

Tell me what you see, he tapped. The cabbie didn't really understand what the two were doing. Alice raised an eyebrow but took a look at the cabbie. She caught glimpse of the side of his neck and a photograph on the dashboard, picturing a young boy and girl. She tapped her gatherings to Sherlock.

"Who would notice me?" said Sherlock.

"You're too modest, Mr. 'olmes."

"He really isn't," Alice muttered. "Like I said, you don't know Mr. Holmes like I do."

"You've got yourself a fan, Mr. 'olmes," said the cabbie. Sherlock sat back in his seat.

"Tell me more," he said.

"That's all you're gonna know… … in this lifetime…" Alice felt fear now running through her veins.

* * *

The cab drove on and finally stopped at the front of two identical buildings side by side. The cabbie turned off the engine and got out, coming to the passenger door next to Alice and opening it. He looked in at Sherlock. Alice inched closer to Sherlock.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice shaking ever so slightly. She was ten years old, you have to give a little fear.

"Your detective know every street in London," said the cabbie. "He knows exactly where we are." Alice turned to Sherlock.

"Roland-Kerr Further Education College," he said, "Why here?"

"It's open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out."

"And you just walk your victims in? How?" Alice was pulled out of the cab with a yelp. The cabbie raised a pistol and pressed it to Alice's temple. She became stiff as a stone. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, dull." If he wasn't her only thing keeping her off of the streets, and if he wasn't older than her, Alice would have hit Sherlock by now.

"Don't worry. It gets better."

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint or by threatening a child."

"I don't. It's much better than that." The cabbie lowered the gun, and Alice relaxed. "Don't need this with you, 'cause you'll follow me." He confidently walked away, dragging Alice along with him. Alice looked back as she watched Sherlock get out of the cab and follow them.

* * *

The cabbie opened the door of a classroom and stood aside so that Sherlock could go in. Alice was grabbed by the cabbie in order to prevent her escape. Sherlock looked at them closely but stepped inside the room. The cabbie released the door and let it swing closed. He pushed Alice into the room as he walked over to some switches on the wall and turns on the lights. Alice began ran over to Sherlock, but the cabbie grabbed her back. Sherlock walked deeper into the room, looking around.

"Well, what do you think?" the cabbie asked. Sherlock raised his hands and shrugs as if to ask, 'What do I think about what?' "It's up to you. You and your assistant are the ones who're gonna die 'ere." Sherlock turned back to him.

"No, we're not," he said.

"That's what they all say." He gestured to one of the benches. "Shall we talk?" Without waiting for a reply, he pulled out two of the chairs and sat down in one. He forced Alice into the other. Sherlock took a chair from the bench in front, flipped it around and sat down opposite. He sighed dramatically.

"Bit risky, wasn't it? Took us away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you," Sherlock said. Alice did not relax her body this time. She was always like this when in a hostage situation. One little slip up from Sherlock, and she could end up dead… like her.

"You call that a risk? Nah." The cabbie reached into the left pocket of the cardigan he was wearing. "This is a risk." He took out a small glass bottle with a screw top on it and put it onto the table in front of them. There was a single large capsule inside. Alice looked at it and only one conclusion came to mind. This was the poison the victims used to kill themselves.

"Ooh, I like this bit. 'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this." Reaching into his right pocket, the cabbie took out an identical bottle containing an identical capsule and put it onto the table beside the first bottle. Alice raised an eyebrow, confused.

"You weren't expecting that, were yer? Ooh, you're going to love this."

"Love what?" said Alice, "I don't understand what you're doing…"

"Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it." Alice groaned, having been ignored.

"My fan?" said Sherlock.

"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. 'The Science of Deduction.' Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think?" The cabbie looked down angrily. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?" He looked up again into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock looked back at him for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. He tapped out something on the table.

"Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too," Sherlock said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know." Alice's eyes looked at the bottles on the table as she saw Sherlock doing the same.

"What about the two bottles?" Alice asked. "It still doesn't make any sense." The cabbie sighed.

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die," The cabbie explained.

"Both bottles are of course identical," said Sherlock.

"In every way."

"And you know which is which."

"Course I know."

"But I don't."

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses."

"Why should he?" cut in Alice. "There is absolutely nothing he can go off of. And besides, why should he even do it?" There was a brief silence.

"I 'aven't told him the best bit yet. Whatever bottle he chooses, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine." Sherlock started to grin. He had become interested. Alice was in trouble. "I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't. If you take the wrong one, I kill the girl." Sherlock looked down at the bottles, concentrating properly now. Alice prayed that he got it right. "Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. 'olmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice. But you weren't threatening a-" Sherlock stopped halfway through his sentence. Alice became even more confused than she was.

"And now I'm givin' you one." Sherlock looked up at him. "You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game."

"It's chance…" Alice muttered loudly.

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move." With his left hand the cabbie slid the left-hand bottle across the table towards Sherlock. He licks his top lip as he pulled his hand back and left the bottle where it is. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one." Alice looked down at the bottles and back up at Sherlock. Her dark eyes were desperate.

"You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes? Ready to play?" asked the cabbie.

"Play what?" said Sherlock. "It's a fifty-fifty chance."

"You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?"

"It's still just chance," Alice snapped. "I say you just let me go, and allow Sherlock and I to leave!"

"Alice," said Sherlock, finally acknowledging the girl since they were in the cab. "I need you to be quiet." Alice felt something strike her heart, but she fell silent.

"Four people in a row? It's not just chance," said the cabbie.

"Luck."

"It's genius. I know 'ow people think. I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone's so stupid – even you." Although he had just told her to stop her observations and from her using her common sense, Alice sided with Sherlock still. No one insulted Sherlock Holmes by calling him stupid. Because he wasn't. Sherlock's gaze sharpened at the statement. "Or maybe God just loves me."

"Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie," Sherlock said finally. He lifted his folded hands in front of his mouth and gazed at the cabbie intently. "So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?" The cabbie nodded down to the bottles.

"Time to play," he said simply. Sherlock unfolded his fingers and adopted the prayer position in front of his mouth.

"Oh, I am playing. This is our turn." Sherlock looked over at Alice, who straightened up. "Alice. In the cab, I told you to look at our friend here. What did you see?" Alice looked up at the ceiling for a second before remembering what she saw.

"Shaving foam behind his ear…" she recounted, "And… a photo of two children. But I don't see why you want me to practice this when I'm about to die!" Sherlock nodded and shook off Alice's last statement.

"There's shaving foam behind your left ear," Sherlock said, picking off of Alice's notions. "Nobody's pointed it out to you. "Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you." The cabbie tried not to fidget under Sherlock's gaze. If she wasn't a hostage, Alice would laugh. "But there's that photograph of the children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them." The cabbie's gaze slid away from Sherlock and for the first time since he had captured her, Alice could see a hint of pain in his eyes.

"Estranged father," Sherlock concluded. "She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts." He extended his index fingers. "Ah, but there's more." The cabbie lifted his gaze back to Sherlock as he pointed his index fingers towards him. "Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing is at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?" The detective's then eyes widened slightly as he makes his most important deduction, to which was still blank to Alice.

"Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?" he said.

"Told him what?" asked Alice. "Sherlock, I don't understand…"

"That he's a dead man walking." Alice did a quick double take between Sherlock and the cabbie.

"So are you…" said the cabbie.

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?" The cabbie smiled.

"Aneurism." He lifted his right hand and tapped the side of his head. "Right in 'ere." Sherlock smiled in satisfaction. "Any breath could be my last." Sherlock's smile dropped. Alice's eyes narrowed.

"So… just because you're dying, you decide to murder people? I thought our killer would be more fun…" she said, crossing her arms.

"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism."

"No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter," said Sherlock. "Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children." Alice raised an eyebrow.

"How would you know that?" Alice asked. Sherlock looked over at her, but didn't answer. The cabbie sighed.

"You are good, ain't you?" he said.

"But how?" inquired Sherlock.

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"You don't get much money by serial killing either…" Alice said.

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise us," Sherlock said.

"I 'ave a sponsor."

"You have a what?" Alice said, confused.

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."

"Who on Earth would sponsor a serial killer!?"

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'olmes?" Sherlock and the cabbie stared at each other for a moment. Alice's breath got caught in her throat. "You two are not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man and a child… and they're so much more than that."

"What d'you mean, more than a man?" asked Sherlock, his patience wearing thin. "An organisation? What?"

"There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter." The cabbie nodded down to the bottles. "Time to choose." Sherlock looked down to the bottles, his eyes moving from one to the other. Alice felt her heart stop. What if Sherlock was wrong? What if he chose the wrong one? Why would he risk Alice's life like this?

"What if I don't choose either?" said Sherlock, "I could just take Alice and walk out of here." Sighing in a combination of exasperation and disappointment, the cabbie lifted up the pistol and pointed it at Sherlock.

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you and the girl in the head." Sherlock smiled calmly. Alice blinked. What the heck was he doing?! "Funnily enough, no-one's ever gone for that option."

"I'll have the gun, please."

"I won't…" Alice muttered.

"Are you sure?" said the cabbie.

"Definitely," Sherlock replied, still smiling. "The gun."

"You don't wanna phone a friend?" Sherlock smiled confidently. Alice tensed up her body for what seemed like the third time in the past hour.

"The gun." Alice shut her eyes tightly, waiting for the gunshots to end their lives. It never came. Slowly, Alice opened her dark eyes. A small flame was flickering out of the end of the muzzle. Sherlock was smiling smugly. Alice relaxed. She was safe. "I know a real gun when I see one." Calmly, the cabbie lifted the pistol/cigarette lighter and released the trigger. The flame went out.

"None of the others did."

"Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting. We look forward to the court case, don't we Alice?" Sherlock stood up and walked towards the door. "Come along, Alice." Alice shot up out of her chair and ran over to Sherlock's side. They walked towards the door together.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out…" Sherlock stopped at the door and half-turns towards him. Alice froze, thinking that Sherlock wouldn't. "...which one's the good bottle?"

"Of course. Child's play."

"Well, which one, then?"

"Sherlock, can we please go?" Alice said, using her common sense. She opened the door a little, but Sherlock showed no signs of wanting to leave the room.

"Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?" said the cabbie.

"Alice, wait outside," Sherlock said.

"What?" replied his assistant.

"Do as I say." Alice nodded and stepped through the door, shutting it behind her. Unlike what Sherlock had said to do, Alice waited outside of the door. She listened and waited. That's when she heard it. A gunshot.

Alice's eyes went wide. She forgot about Sherlock's orders and opened the door. Her mind began racing. It wasn't Sherlock who had been shot. It was the cabbie.

He was bleeding out from his chest as Alice covered her mouth, trying to keep the bile down that was rising in her mouth. As Sherlock had stated before, Alice had seen gruesome things before. He never said that she handled it well. Her eyes met Sherlock's for a long moment. His were narrowed, knowing that Alice hadn't listened to him.

Sherlock straightened up, as the cabbie breathed heavily and coughed. Sherlock turned back, looking around the room and saw one of the pills lying on the desk as the cabbie convulsed on the floor, gasping and coughing in pain. Sherlock snatched up the pill, knelt down and brandished it at the cabbie, who had a large pool of blood underneath him and was staring up at him in shock.

"Was I right?" Sherlock asked out of fury. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" The cabbie didn't reply. Sherlock angrily hurled the pill across the room and stood up. He motioned for Alice to come closer. She did, cautiously and carefully. She was truly afraid of Sherlock when he was angry like this.

"Okay, tell us this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name."

"..No…" the cabbie said weakly.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name." The cabbie shook his head. Grimacing angrily, Sherlock lifted his foot and puts it onto his shoulder. The cabbie gasped in pain.

"Sherlock, I know he's a serial killer, but stop it!" Alice shouted. Sherlock ignored her.

"A name." The cabbie cried out in pain. "Now." Still, the cabbie could only whine in pain. His face intent and manic, Sherlock leaned his weight onto his foot. The cabbie whimpered. Alice winced. "The NAME!"

"MORIARTY!" the cabbie shouted in agony. His eyes closed, and his head rolled to the side. Sherlock stepped back, turning his head away and looking reflective. Alice looked at the cabbie and back towards Sherlock.

"What happened…?" she asked. The detective didn't say a word. Alice looked down at the body.

"I thought I told you to wait outside," Sherlock said simply. Alice looked up at him.

"I heard a gunshot… I thought he shot you…"

"You know very well that the gun he had was fake. Although…" Sherlock looked over at a broken window, Alice following his gaze. It had most likely been broken when the bullet was shot through it. "Who did kill our serial killer?"

* * *

Soon, the police had arrived, as well as an ambulance. Alice was still trying to figure out who called them, which to her was most likely someone who had heard the gunshot.

Currently, she was sitting on the back steps of the ambulance with Sherlock. A paramedic kept putting an orange blanket around Sherlock's shoulders. There was one on Alice as well, but she just kept it on. As Lestrade, who had travelled from the flat to the college, walked over to the pair, Sherlock gestured towards the blanket.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me," said Sherlock.

"Yeah, it's for shock," Lestrade explained, causing Alice to laugh. It felt pretty good to her.

"Neither of us are in shock."

"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs." Lestrade grinned, and Alice laughed again. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"So… were there any signs of the shooter?" asked Alice as she finished laughing.

"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but…" Lestrade shrugged. "...got nothing to go on." Alice sighed. Sherlock looked at him pointedly.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said the detective. Now it was Lestrade's turn to roll his eyes.

"Okay, gimme." Sherlock stood up.

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a handgun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service…" Sherlock trailed off halfway through his deduction. Alice raised an eyebrow as her detective's head turned. She followed his gaze and saw John standing some distance away behind police tape. "...and nerves of steel…" John looked back at them innocently and then turned his head away. Alice didn't understand why Sherlock had begun to trail- … … Oh.

Lestrade turned to follow Sherlock's gaze. Alice threw off the blanket and jumped off of the steps, drawing Lestrade's attention to her.

"Actually, you know what?" said the dark haired girl. "Ignore him."

"Sorry?" Lestrade said out of confusion.

"Ignore all of the things Sherlock just said. It was just the… the… the shock talking. Nothing else." Sherlock stood up off of the step and started walking towards John, Alice following him.

"Where're you two going?"

"To talk about the rent…?"

"But I've still got questions for you!" Sherlock, irritated by now, stopped and turned around.

"Oh, what now? I'm in shock!" he said, unknowingly being sarcastic, "Look, I've got a blanket!" He brandished the sides of the blanket at Lestrade as if to prove it.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade shouted, "Liddell!"

"And we just caught you a serial killer... more or less." Lestrade looked at them thoughtfully for a moment.

"Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go." Alice smiled as she and Sherlock walked away. Taking the blanket from around his shoulders, Sherlock bundled it up as they approached John, who was standing at the side of a police car. Sherlock tossed the blanket through the open window of the car and ducked under the police tape. He held it up for Alice to walk under and join the boys.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills…" John said nervously. "Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." Alice crossed her arms with a sincere smile.

"Nice shot, Dr. Watson," she said, making sure it was at a volume for which no one besides the three would hear.

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window…" John said, trying and failing to look innocent.

"Well, you'd know," said Sherlock. John gazed up at him, still trying unsuccessfully not to let his expression give him away. "Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." John cleared his throat and looked around nervously.

"Are you alright, Dr. Watson?" Alice asked.

"Yes, of course I'm alright," the doctor replied.

"You've just killed a man, and you're fine with it?"

"Yes, I…" John trailed off. Sherlock looked at him closely, as did Alice. "That's true, innit?" John smiled just like Alice did. Sherlock continued to watch him carefully. "But he wasn't a very nice man. He kidnapped a child, after all. Speaking of which, Alice, are you-" Alice's smile did not deiterate. Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"I'm fine, Dr. Watson," Alice said, "I was scared for a moment here and there, but I knew Sherlock would get me out of there."

"No you didn't," said Sherlock firmly. Alice laughed nervously.

"Yeah… maybe a little…"

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie, wasn't he?" said John, getting the group back on topic. Sherlock chuckled, then turned and started to lead them away as he spoke. Alice's smiled grew unnoticably wider. It had been a long time since she had actually heard Sherlock truly laugh.

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie," said Sherlock, "Should have seen the route he took us to get here!" John and Alice both laughed, and Sherlock smiled. A warm feeling rose in Alice's chest. It was hard to believe that she had been involved with a serial killer only a few moments ago.

"Stop!" said John, still laughing. "Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!"

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me," said Sherlock.

"Keep your voices down!" said Alice in a harsh whisper, although she was still laughing a little as well, as they walked past Sergeant Donovan. The woman gave the three a strange look. "Sorry! It's just nerves… or at least I think it is… Sorry…" John cleared his throat as they walked away from Donovan.)

"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" he said. Alice's eyes went wide.

"You were going to what?" Sherlock turned back to John, ignoring Alice.

"Course I wasn't," he said. "Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up."

"No you didn't…" said John. "It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"Again, you were going to take that pill?!" said Alice in shock. She didn't believe that Sherlock would actually do that.

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock said, once again ignoring Alice. "I have too much to worry about."

"Because you're an idiot," replied John. Sherlock smiled. After a moment he forced the smile down. Alice sighed, knowing that this was typical Sherlock behavior. But… he wasn't really going to take that pill… was he?

"Dinner?" said Sherlock.

"Starving." They turned and started to walk again.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." A few yards ahead of them, a car had pulled up and the man got out. Alice's body stiffened, and her mouth pressed together in a thin line. John stared at him.

"Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about." Sherlock looked across at the man.

"I know exactly who that is." He walked closer to the man and stopped, looking at him angrily. Alice folded her hands together behind her back.

"So, another case cracked," said the man pleasantly. "How very public spirited… though that's never really your motivation, is it?"

"What are you doing here?"

"As ever, I'm concerned about you… and your little…" He looked down at Alice, whose gaze moved down to the ground. "Assistant."

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'."

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you two and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!"

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer… and you know how it always upset Mummy." Out of the corner of her eye, Alice could see John frowning, as if unsure of what he just heard.

"I upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"No, no, wait," said John, interrupting the two, "Mummy? Who's Mummy?"

"Mother – our mother," Sherlock explained. "This is my brother, Mycroft." John stares at the man in amazement. Alice raised her eyes and stood up straight. "Putting on weight again?"

"Losing it, in fact," said Mycroft.

"He's your brother?!" John said out of amazement.

"Of course he's my brother," stated Sherlock, as if the fact was obvious.

"So he's not…"

"Not what?" Everyone looked at John as he shrugged in embarrassment.

"I dunno – criminal mastermind?" He grimaced at having even suggested it. Alice felt like agreeing with John, but she never said anything when Mycroft was around. Never. Sherlock looked at Mycroft disparagingly.

"Close enough." Alice nodded in agreement, not making a noise.

"For goodness' sake," Mycroft said, "I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." Mycroft sighed. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic." He walked away. Alice quickly followed him. Being around Mycroft just made her uncomfortable. She felt like if he looked at her long enough, he would recognize her. John so caught up to Sherlock and Alice, and they walked away side by side.

"So, dim sum?" asked John. Alice, now fully relaxed, nodded.

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies," Sherlock said.

"No you can't."

"He almost can," said Alice, whose smile had returned. "But, Dr. Watson… you did get shot though."

"Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound, wasn't there?"

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder."

"I thought so. It couldn't be your leg… since we've already ruled that out."

"No you didn't."

"Hmm… the left one?"

"Lucky guess." Sherlock put his hand on Alice's shoulder.

"Alice rarely takes a guess. After all, she is my shadow," he said. John laughed. He looked across to Sherlock, who was smiling.

"What are you so happy about?" John asked.

"Moriarty."

"What's Moriarty?"

"I've absolutely no idea," said Sherlock cheerfully as he took his hand off of Alice's shoulder. Alice laughed.

* * *

The trio continued their walk to the restaurant Sherlock had been talking about, when John had brought up a good question that hadn't been brought up in the entirety of the day.

"I am curious," said John. Sherlock looked over at him.

"Curious about what?" he asked. John pointed at Alice.

"How did you and Alice meet? Why is she even with you?" Alice paled, and Sherlock drew a sharp breath.

"That, John, is something I'll never tell."


	5. Alice's Story

**Chapter Five: Alice's Story**

* * *

Sherlock shut the door to the flat behind him as he, Alice and John arrived back home. Alice immediately dropped onto the sofa. Sherlock headed for his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. John walked over to his chair and sat down, looking at Alice. The girl stared back.

"What?" she said simply. John pointed over at Sherlock's bedroom door.

"He said that he wouldn't say anything," John started, "But I never asked you. Why are you even with Sherlock?" Alice sat up quickly. She sighed and relaxed.

"It's a long story," she said before looking at John. "Are you sure you even want to hear it?"

"Yes." Alice walked over and sat down in Sherlock's chair. She looked John dead on in the eye.

"It's not going to be pretty…"

"I'm used to seeing things like that. I'm sure I can handle anything you have to tell me." Alice blew air into the open space and leaned back in the chair.

"Do you remember that big orphanage case that everyone was talking about about...five years ago?" John nodded.

"Yeah," he said, "The whole orphanage was shut down, and the orphans were all adopted. Apparently, the caretakers were abusing and even killed one of the children. No one knew about it until a child escaped and went to the... Hang on...why are you asking about this?"

"Do you know the child's name, John? The child who escaped?" asked Alice, ignoring the doctor's question. She stared into the empty fireplace. John shook his head. Alice sighed. "It was Alice Liddell."

"But that's…" Alice looked back over at John as he started to understand. "The child who escaped was you?" Alice nodded. Her dark eyes kept staring into the darkness of the fireplace.

"My mother died not long after I was born," she said, "I was put there, but… everyone thought I was strange. Even the people who came to adopt us. Our caretakers were harsh and unforgiving. Because of my curious nature and my differences from the other children, they would punish me the most… even when I didn't deserve it. I have trust issues to this day because of them."

"You trust me," John pointed out, "And we just met." Alice smirked and laughed silently.

"That's because Sherlock trusts you… and I trust Sherlock."

"So, how did you escape?" Alice shuddered.

"Alright, continuing with the story, I was raised in that hellhole for five years. I thought that no one cared for me, except for April."

"Who?"

"She was one of the older girls. and she cared about me. She was the one who taught me everything I needed to know. Then one day…" Alice blinked away any tears she had in her eyes. "I heard her screaming. I got scared. I thought that the caretakers were punishing her because April was my friend. So, while they were busy, I ran. I regret not going to see what was really going on. I could have saved her."

"...She was the girl who was murdered, wasn't she?" John asked. Alice nodded, letting only a single tear fall.

"I didn't find out until later that the caretakers at the orphanage had killed her," Alice continued, "However, they came after me. They always said that someone as special and as smart as I was shouldn't be with normal people. They treated me like a freak. That's when I met Sherlock."

"Hold on, I'm confused. How exactly did you meet Sherlock?"

"He was on a case. An entirely different one, so I suppose we just met purely on coincidence. I ran into him while I was running from my caretakers. I don't know why, but he took me away from there. I guess it was because I was an abused child in need of help, which I highly doubt. Sherlock went to the police and the entire orphanage was shut down. Until the orphans were adopted or could be put into better homes, we had to stay with one of the officers. I refused to go with anyone… almost anyone, at least. I was supposed to go with Anderson at first, but I sort of… bit him… and I hate him, anyway. Back to my story, I trusted no one but Sherlock. He saved me. So, Lestrade put me with him until someone would find me a good home. Sherlock didn't like me at first, but he warmed up to me I guess. Lestrade never said that I had to leave." John raised an eyebrow.

"So… Sherlock kept you? As in-" Alice shook her head.

"No. Nothing like that. I'm not sure if Sherlock is even fit for that responsibility. He does teach me what I need to know, like a teacher."

"Is that it?" John asked after Alice was silent for a moment. The dark-haired girl nodded. John stood.

"You won't tell Sherlock that I told you, will you?" Alice asked. "I'm not really supposed to tell anyone." John shook his head.

"I won't tell. I bet even Sherlock has his secrets." Alice smiled.

"This one will be ours! Our little secret!" John almost laughed at the child's happiness. It was hard to believe that she was the same girl that was in a hostage situation and saw a person die only three hours ago.


	6. A New Case

**Chapter Six: A New Case**

* * *

Weeks had past since the three had moved into their flat. Things had settled in the dust every once in a while, and for Alice, this was one of those times.

Sherlock had forced her out of the flat and to the market with John. Alice was not a social person, and she hated going out somewhere as boring as this. But, this turned out to be a little more entertaining than she expected. Alice and John had gotten nearly all the shopping done, the only thing that stood between them and going back to the flat was a stubborn machine.

John was scanning the items Alice held in the basket. Going unnoticed by the doctor, a short line had formed behind the pair. John took another item from the basket.

"_Unexpected item in bagging area. Please try again,_" said the machine. John moved the item slowly across the scanner in an attempt to get it to read the barcode.

"_Item not scanned. Please try again_." John straightened up, staring at the device in exasperation. Alice laughed.

"D'you think you could keep your voice down?" John muttered.

"Today is just not your day," said the ten year old girl beside him. Eventually, John got the item scanned and inserted his card into the machine. He typed in his PIN and the pair waited.

"_Card not authorised. Please use an alternative method of payment_."

"Yes, all right! I've got it!" Alice laughed quietly to herself, earning her a look from John.

"What?" she asked, "It's entertaining." John sighed and tried to pay again.

"_Card not authorised_," repeated the machine, "_Please use an alternative method of payment_." Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw the man in the line behind them had already picked up his own basket in expectation of getting to the scanner soon. John reached towards his back pocket but apparently realised that he has no other way of paying. Alice sighed, putting her face in her hands.

"You don't have anything else on you to pay with… don't you?"

"I might." John then pointed to the machine. "Right, keep it. Keep that. Follow me." Alice only blinked once as John angrily walked away, abandoning his shopping and his card as well. She swiped up his card and followed him back to 221B.

* * *

When they got there, the pair found Sherlock is sitting in his armchair calmly reading a book. John stopped just inside the room and exchanged a look with Alice. He then began looking around the flat. Alice, meanwhile, had begun to suspect that something has happened in their absence, but she couldn't tell what had happened.

"You took your time," said Sherlock without looking up from what he was doing.

"Yeah, I didn't get the shopping," John said. Sherlock looked displeased over the top of his book.

"What? Why not?" Alice stifled a laugh of her own, recalling the events that led her and John to return to the flat in the first place.

"He had a row in the shop…" she explained, "with a PIN machine." John glared at Alice as Sherlock lowered his book.

"He... you had a row with a machine?"

"Sort of," John admitted. "It sat there, and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?" Alice could tell that Sherlock was holding back his amused smile as he nodded towards the kitchen.

"Take my card."

"I got it," said Alice. She walked towards the kitchen where Sherlock's wallet was lying on the table.

"You could always go yourself, you know," said John. "You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since we left." Alice picked up the wallet from the table and rummaged through it for a suitable payment card. "And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?" Alice glanced over at Sherlock, waiting for his answer.

"Not interested," Sherlock said as he used a piece of paper as a bookmark. He shut the book with a loud snap, and Alice caught eye of something under his chair in plain view. She tapped her foot against the ground, giving Sherlock only a second to then realize that the object she was referring to was still in sight. He quickly slammed a foot down onto the end and slid his foot and the sword further back to get the weapon out of sight.

"I sent them a message." Alice by then had now found a card John could use. She went to put the wallet back on the table but paused to bend over to look more closely when something caught her eye. There was a new, long, narrow gouge in the top of the table. She sighed and ran her finger along the cut, rubbing at it in case it was just a mark that can be removed. Well… this explained the sword.

"Sherlock…" she said in a whisper before looking across to her detective. She looked disapprovingly at him, noting that he could have almost died for the third time in less than a month. Sherlock shook his head innocently. Alice walked back over to John. The two turned and left the room, and Alice knew that Sherlock was smirking.

* * *

Later, John staggered up the stairs carrying several bags of shopping. Alice followed right behind. She had two of the bags in her hands.

"Don't worry about us. We can manage," John said sarcastically as they reentered the flat. Sherlock, who was now sitting at the dining table with his hands folded in front of his mouth as he looked at a laptop screen, barely glanced across to them. John sighed heavily as he and Alice carried the bags into the kitchen and dumped them onto the table. As Alice walked into the main living space and dropped down on Sherlock's chair, John turned around from the kitchen table and frowned when he realised which piece of equipment Sherlock was looking at.

"Is that my computer?" he asked.

"Of course," replied Sherlock as he started to type.

"What?!"

"Mine was in the bedroom."

"Did you not want to get up, Sherlock?" Alice asked. Sherlock didn't answer, meaning she was probably right.

"It's password protected!" snapped John in anger.

"In a manner of speaking," said Sherlock as he continued to type. "Took me less than a minute to guess yours." He glanced up at John. "Not exactly Fort Knox."

"Right, thank you," said John, now annoyed. He reached over and slammed the lid down. Sherlock pulled his fingers out of the way just in time. John took the laptop across the room and put it down on the floor beside his armchair as he sat down. Sherlock clasped his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth as he propped his elbows on the table. John picked up a small pile of letters from the table beside his chair and frowned. Alice leaned over to see what he was looking at. Her eyes caught only one. It was a red bill, which she knew that needed to be paid.

"Need to get a job…" John muttered to himself.

"Well, that's boring," said Alice. "But… I don't want to get evicted from here…" John put the letters back onto the table and looked across at Sherlock for a moment, Alice following his gaze.

"Listen, um ... if you'd be able to lend me some …" John stopped talking when he realised that Sherlock appeared to be a world of his own. Alice rolled her eyes and stood up, grabbing her messenger bag from beside Sherlock's chair. How it got there, she didn't know. It was always turning up in random places. Last week, she found it in the bathroom, for example. She felt that Sherlock had something to do with it.

"Sherlock, are you listening?"

"I need to go to the bank," said Sherlock without looking at either of them. He got up and headed towards the stairs, taking his coat from the hook on the door as he went. Alice followed him. John jumped up and hurried to join them. Alice grinned. Finally, something to do!

* * *

Sherlock lead John and Alice into Shad Sanderson Bank. Alice blinked several times as her mind processed the grandeur of it all.

"When you said we were going to the bank, Sherlock…" said Alice as the trio walked onto an escalator behind Sherlock. "This is not what I thought you meant." The group reached the top of the escalator. Sherlock walked over to the reception desk.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said simply. The receptionist nodded and stood. She lead the three to an office. Inside was one of the bank workers. Upon seeing them, he walked over and grinned.

"Sherlock Holmes," said the bank worker. He shook hands with Sherlock, with the bank worker clasping Sherlock's hand in both of his own.

"Sebastian," replied Sherlock.

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" Sherlock looked back at Sebastian with only marginally disguised dislike. Sebastian turned to look at John and Alice. The young girl smiled a bit.

"This is my friend, John Watson."

"_Friend_?"

"Colleague," John corrected.

"And this is my assistant, Alice Liddell," said Sherlock once more. Alice nodded in a greeting.

"Right," said Sebastian. He threw a brief look at Sherlock. Grinning unpleasantly, he scratched his neck momentarily. Sebastian turned away, and Alice ran her fingers nervously together behind her back. "Well, grab a pew. D'you need anything? Coffee, water?" Sherlock shook his head.

"I think we're all fine," said Alice. Sebastian walked around and sat down at his desk. Sherlock and John sat side by side opposite him. Alice stood behind them.

"So, you're doing well," said Sherlock. "You've been abroad a lot."

"Well, some," Sebastian admitted.

"Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?" Alice raised an eyebrow as John frowned in confusion. Sebastian just laughed and pointed at Sherlock.

"Right. You're doing that thing." He looked at John and Alice. "We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick," Alice heard Sherlock mutter quietly.

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story."

"Yes, I've seen him do it," John said.

"I'm learning to," added Alice.

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him," Sebastian continued. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw Sherlock turning his head away and looking down, his face momentarily filling with pain. "You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall, and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."

"I simply observed," Sherlock muttered again.

"Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world – you're quite right. How could you tell?" Sherlock opened his mouth but Sebastian continued speaking. "You're gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan." Alice grinned.

"No, I..."

"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!" Sherlock simply looked back at him for a moment before speaking.

"I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me." Curiously, Alice raised an eyebrow. That was a boring explanation. Sebastian laughed humorlessly. Sherlock smiled back at him with an equal lack of humour. Sebastian clapped his hands together, then became more serious.

"I'm glad you could make it over," he said. "We've had a break-in."

Sebastian lead them out of his office and across the trading floor towards another door.

"Sir William's office – the bank's former Chairman," he explained, "The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"Did they steal anything?" Alice asked, digging around for that small book she carried with her.

"Nothing. Just left a little message." He held his security card against the reader by the door to unlock it. He opened the door. Hanging on the plain white wall behind the large desk was a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit. Alice presumed it was the late Sir William Shad himself. On the wall to the left of the portrait someone had sprayed what looks like a graffiti 'tag' in yellow paint. The tag looked vaguely like a number 8 but with the top of the number left open, and above it was an almost horizontal straight line. Across the eyes of the portrait another almost horizontal straight line had been sprayed. Maybe because of the texture of the paper or perhaps because the 'artist' oversprayed the line, the yellow paint had run trails down the painting. Sebastian lead the way towards the desk and then stepped aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. John moved to stand on the other side of Sebastian, who looks at Sherlock expectantly while the detective stares in fixed concentration at the graffiti. Alice had a mobile in her hand. She snapped a photo of the graffiti.

* * *

Later they were back in Sebastian's office and he was showing the three the security footage of the office from the previous night.

"Sixty seconds apart," he said as he flicked back and 9 between the still image at 23:34:01 which shows the paint on the wall and on the portrait, and a minute earlier – 23:33:01 – when the wall and portrait were still clean. "So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute."

"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock asked within a second.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting."

Back in the reception area, Sebastian showed them a screen on a computer which had a layout of the trading floor and its surrounding offices. Each indicated door had a light against it showing its security status.

"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here," Sebastian explained. "Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet."

"And... that door didn't open last night?" Alice asked. Sebastian nodded.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you – five figures." He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and takes out a cheque. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."

"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian," stated Sherlock. He walked away, and Alice followed.

* * *

As Sherlock had returned to Sir William's office to take photographs on his mobile phone of the graffiti, Alice stood nearby, leaning against the he had taken several pictures, Sherlock turned around. He looked to his right where the floor-to-ceiling windows showed an impressive view of the nearby Swiss Re Tower, better known as 'The Gherkin', if Alice remembered correctly. Frowning and looking away in thought for a moment, he then walked over to the windows and pulled up the blinds which are covering what was revealed to be a door onto a small balcony. Opening the door he went out onto the balcony. Alice held the door open as she looked out at the fantastic view over London. Sherlock, however was looking down at the very long drop to the ground hundreds of feet below. Sherlock looked along the balcony and bites his lip thoughtfully before heading back inside.

* * *

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock was dancing. Well… he really wasn't, but it looked like that from Alice's point of view. But Sherlock really dancing never really crossed her mind before. Alice shook the thought out of her head as she watched the detective. On the trading floor he had ducked down behind a desk and now rose slowly upright, staring in concentration at the glass doorway to Sir William's office. He then ducked sideways and hurried across the floor, to the bemusement of both Alice and other traders. Sherlock continued to scamper around the floor, frequently scurrying sideways and ducking down behind desks before popping up again and peering at the doorway. He "danced" across the floor again and twirled around a column before backing towards an office on the other side of the floor. Stopping in that doorway, he wiggled about, his eyes still fixed on Sir William's office, then turned and went into the office and headed to the other side of the desk. Alice scampered after him. Standing directly behind the chair of whoever worked in that room, there was a clear view of the top of the painting and the new yellow slash across the portrait's eyes. Sherlock "danced" sideways across the room before coming back to his previous position, confirming that this is the only place on the trading floor where the damaged portrait can be seen. Looking around the room for some identification, he eventually went to the door where two signs were attached to the outside, one showing that this was the office of the Hong Kong Desk Head. He slid the top sign out of its holder and headed off, dragging Alice behind.

* * *

Not long afterwards, Sherlock was leading John and Alice back towards the escalators.

"Two trips around the world this month," John said after a long and awkward silence between the three. "You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him." Sherlock smiled but didn't respond. This sparked Alice's curiosity.

"I have to agree with John," she said. "But how did you know about his trips?"

"Did you see his watch?" Sherlock asked.

"His watch?" repeated John.

"The time was right but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it."

"Within a month? How'd you get that part?"

"New Breitling. Only came out this February."

"Okay. So d'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks."

"How?" asked Alice. "All you did was look out a window and run around the office like a chicken with its head cut off." John shot a weird look at Alice. "What?"

"Didn't you see it?" Alice shook her head.

"No. Like I said, all I saw was you running around like a headless chicken." Sherlock sighed.

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and…" It took a second for Alice to piece it together.

"And then they'll lead us to the person who sent it, right?"

"Obvious."

"Well, there's three hundred people up there," said John, "Who was it meant for?"

"Pillars."

"What?" Both John and Alice said at once.

"Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it?" said John. The trio made it down the escalator and went through the revolving doors and out onto the street. Alice stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat as she pieced together what was found.

"Er... the traders come to work at any hour," she said, going off the information she had seen, "I'm thinking that some of them trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night." Then it clicked. "So... you're saying that the message was meant for someone who came in around midnight?" Sherlock nodded.

"Correct," he said. Sherlock held up the name card he had collected with the name facing the other two. It read Eddie Van Coon. "Not many Van Coons in the phonebook. Taxi!"

* * *

After a taxi ride, the three stood outside a block of flats. Sherlock pressed the door buzzer marked 'Van Coon'. Releasing it, he looks into the security camera above the buzzers, waited a couple of seconds, then pressed the buzzer again. There was no response.

"So what do we do now?" said John,

"Sit here and wait for him to come back?" Alice suggested nervously. Sherlock has looked at the number of buzzers on the wall and stepped back to look up the front of the building. He came back to the wall and looked at John and Alice triumphantly.

"Just moved in," he stated.

"What?" John asked, confused.

"The floor above. New label." Sherlock pointed to another buzzer which had a handwritten label saying, "Wintle".

"Could have just replaced it."

"Alice." The girl in question hummed a quick response. "How tall are you?" Alice raised an eyebrow at the question.

"I'm disappointed that you don't know my height," admitted Alice, "But I'm four foot, eight inches. Why?"

"Do you think you can make it through those windows?" Alice nodded before she was getting what was being implied.

"Sherlock, there is no force on Earth that could get me to crawl through a window ever again."

"Alice." Sherlock said far stricter than before. Alice sighed.

"Fine." She went up and pressed the buzzer labeled "Wintle".

"Hello?" A woman's voice crackled to life over the intercom. Alice turned to the camera with a little smile.

"Hello, miss," she said innocently. "My..." Alice took a quick look at John and Sherlock. "Family and I live in the flat just below you. I don't think we've met yet."

"No, well, uh, I've just moved in."

"Actually... I left my keys in the flat and my... guardians won't be home for a while." Alice bit down on her lip.

"D'you want me to buzz you in?" She nodded.

"Yes, thank you." Sherlock cleared his throat. Alice sighed. "Do you think I can also use your balcony for a quick second?"

"What?"

* * *

Not long afterwards, Alice somehow managed her way into the woman's flat and was standing on her balcony. She looked over it to the ground several floors below. Luckily for her, the top floor which she was on had balconies which only ran halfway across the front of the flat whereas the floor below had full-width balconies. The chances of her falling off were very slim. Then again, the first time she had done something like this she had fallen and broken her arm in the process. But, that was in the past.

Alice climbed over the side of the balcony and closed her eyes.

"I can't believe I'm doing this..." she muttered before she dropped down onto the balcony outside Van Coon's flat. Taking another look over the edge, she turned and reached for the handle of the door quickly. Alice found that it was surprisingly unlocked, which was a good thing or she would have to break the lock. And she didn't think there was enough money to replace it.

Alice went inside and walked carefully across the very elegantly decorated living room.

"Looks like being a trader pays well..." she commented. The room was littered white leather furniture, shiny black tables and minimal clutter. She looked at everything as she goes through the room, and glanced at a pile of books on a table. Alice walked through the kitchen, looking at the work surface before opening the fridge to reveal that it's full of nothing other than bottles of champagne. The front door to the flat buzzed, making her jump.

"Alice," said John from the other side of the door. Alice sighed for what seemed like the tenth time. She moved through the hall. "Alice, are you alright?"

Alice walked around until she came to a large door. She tried to open it, but found it was strangely locked.

"Yeah, any time you feel like letting us in."

"In a minute!" With no other option, Alice pulled a hair pin from her pocket and jammed it into the lock. With a few twists, it finally clicked. She opened the door and walked in. Alice covered her mouth to hold back a scream. A man in a suit and overcoat was lying on his back on the bed... dead. There was a pistol on the floor, and the man had a small bullet hole in his right temple. Alice turned quickly and ran to get both Sherlock and John.

* * *

Later, the police had been called and a photographer was taking pictures of the man's- whom was identified to be Van Coon himself- body lying on the bed. A forensics officer was dusting for fingerprints on the nearby mirror, and Alice was still trying to think about why on Earth the man was killed. Sherlock had taken his coat off and was in the bedroom putting on a pair of latex gloves. John stood beside him.

"D'you think he'd lost a lot of money?" He asked. "I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys."

"We don't know that it was suicide," stated Sherlock.

"The door was locked, Sherlock, from the inside. I had to pick it," said Alice. "I also had to climb down from the balcony if you recall." Sherlock squatted down by a suitcase on the floor near the bed and opened the lid, looking at the contents

"Been away three days, judging by the laundry." Looking over his shoulder, Alice spotted a deep indentation in the clothing inside the case. Sherlock then straightened up and looks at the pair. "Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."

"Thanks – I'll take your word for it," John said rather quickly.

"Is there was problem?" Alice asked.

"Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear." Sherlock walked over to the foot of the bed.

"Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti," he said, "Why were they put there?"

"They could be a code," suggested Alice. "I used to use them all the time with a friend of mine."

"Obviously it is." Sherlock moved up to the body and carefully opened the man's jacket to look at his inside pockets. "Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering," said John.

"Oh good. You follow."

"No."

"Yes," Alice said simultaneously. Sherlock threw John a look before moving on to examine Van Coon's hands.

"What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?" John frowned in confusion. "What about this morning – those letters you were looking at?"

"Bills." Sherlock gently pried Van Coon's mouth open. He pulled out a small black origami flower from inside.

"He was being threatened..." Alice said. Sherlock lifted an evidence bag to put the flower into it

"Not by the gas board," John added.

"... and see if you can get prints off this glass," a man voice said from outside the bedroom. A man – a plain clothed police officer who looked so young Alice felt he wasn't He that far in age from herself – walked into the bedroom. Sherlock turned and walked towards him.

"Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met," he said as he offered his hand to shake. The young man put his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence," said the man. Lowering his hand, Sherlock gave the evidence bag to the officer. "Or that a little girl be in here either." Alice glared at him. Sherlock turned his best stroppy look on the man.

"Alice is my assistant. She is in no danger of contaminating the crime scene more than you or I." He sighed. "I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock." Alice blinked. What did he just say? She didn't believe it was possible that this man was of the D.I. rank. He was far too young!

Dimmock walked out of the room. The boys and Alice followed him into the living room where he handed the bag to one of the forensics team.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide," he said.

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts," John added as Sherlock took off the latex gloves and turned back to him.

"Wrong," said Sherlock. "It's one possible explanation of some of the facts." He turned to Dimmock. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?" Dimmock asked.

"The wound was on the right side of his head."

"And?"

"Van Coon was left-handed." He went into an elaborate mime as he demonstrated his point, pretending to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand. "Requires quite a bit of contortion."

"He was left-handed?" Alice repeated. Sherlock turned to her.

"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around this flat." He pointed to the table beside the sofa. "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D'you want me to go on?" Alice shook her head.

"No. You've made your point."

"Oh, I might as well; I'm almost at the bottom of the list." Sherlock pointed to the kitchen. There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left." He turned to Dimmock with an impatient look on his face. "It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts."

"But the gun," said Dimmock,"Why..."

"He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened." Sherlock walked away and started to put on his scarf, coat and gloves.

"What?"

"Today at the bank," John explained. "Sort of a warning."

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in," Sherlock continued.

"And the bullet?" asked Dimmock.

"Went through the open window."

"Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?!" Alice walked towards him a bit.

"Sherlock is never wrong," she stated. "Just wait until you get the ballistics report. I'm betting that the bullet in Van Coon wasn't fired from his gun."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

"Good! You're finally asking the right questions," Sherlock said condescendingly, as he dramatically slammed his hand into his glove. He turns and walked out. John looked round at Dimmock and then pointed apologetically towards the departing drama queen before following him. Alice just stuck her tongue out a bit at him before following.

* * *

The next day, Alice was pinning up the photographs of the graffiti that had been taken above the fireplace in 221B. John and Sherlock had headed out after they left Van Coon's flat, which left Alice alone. She had nothing else to do, so this seemed like a good way to pass the time.

Sherlock was sitting on one of the dining chairs with his back to the dining table. He had his fingers steepled under his chin and was staring at the photos as Alice pinned them to the wall. John was nowhere to be seen, having left a while ago.

Speaking of him, John walked in from the landing as if on cue and dropped his jacket onto his armchair.

"I said, 'Could you pass me a pen?'," said Sherlock without moving. John looked around the living room as if expecting that Sherlock was talking to Alice. The girl stopped and turned to him.

"Don't look at me," she said simply before turning back. "He asked you about an hour ago for one." John sighed.

"Didn't notice I'd gone out, then," said the doctor. He picked up a pen from the table beside his chair and, without even looking at Sherlock, tossed the pen in his direction. Sherlock lifted his hand and caught it without looking away from the photographs on the wall. John walked over to Alice to look more closely at the photos."Yeah, I went to see about a job at that surgery."

"How was it?" Sherlock asked.

"It's great. She's great." Alice froze and gave John a suspicious look.

"What?" She said.

"The job."

"No, I'm sure that I heard you say she."

"... it."

"Liar." Sherlock finally stopped staring at the photos to look at John suspiciously for a moment. He then jerked his head to his right.

"Alice, you can stop messing with the photographs," he said. "Here, have a look." John hummed a bit as he walked over to the table and looked at the web page on the open computer he had out on the table. The lead article on the 'Online News' page was headlined, "Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police." Next to it was a photograph of the bald man.

"_An intruder who can walk through walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night_," Alice read aloud, "_Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl's Court was found shot in his fourth floor flat but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break in. A police spokesman said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in._.." She trailed off as the article was cut off from her vision.

"The 'intruder who can walk through walls,'" John repeated.

"Happened last night," explained Sherlock. "Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon." John straightened up.

"God. You think..."

"He's killed another one." Alice grinned. Now this just got far more exciting


	7. Ciphers Everywhere

**Chapter Seven: Ciphers Everywhere**

* * *

The trio headed over to New Scotland Yard quickly. Sherlock lead them to Dimmock's office. He now stood on the other side of the office, typing onto a laptop.

"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat…" Sherlock explained as he turned the laptop around to show Dimmock the web page which John was looking at earlier. "...doors locked from the inside."

"You've gotta admit, it's similar," added John as Dimmock scowled at the computer. "Both men killed by someone who can... walk through solid walls."

"Do you really believe Van Coon was just another suicide?" asked Alice. "Or do you believe Sherlock now?" Dimmock squirmed, not meeting any of their eyes. "I'm guessing you've seen the ballistics report?" Dimmock nodded. "Now, was the shot that killed him… did it really come from his own gun?"

"No," Dimmock replied reluctantly.

"No," Sherlock repeated. "So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel." Dimmock looked at him silently. Sherlock leaned forward over the desk. "I've just handed you a murder enquiry. Five minutes in his flat."

* * *

True to his word, Alice, John and Sherlock's next stop was Lukis' flat. Also true to his word, it was in five minutes.

Ducking under the police tape, Alice followed her guardians (and Dimmock) up the stairs to the flat's living room. There was an open empty suitcase on the floor. Nearby on the carpet was a black origami flower, similar to the one that Sherlock pulled from Van Coon's mouth. There were also books everywhere on the desk, on bookshelves and scattered about on the floor. Basically, they were everywhere you could step. There were several open newspapers are also lying on the floor. Sherlock walked over to the kitchen area and looked through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings. Pushing back the net curtain for a better look, he smirked.

"Four floors up. That's why they think they're safe," he said. "Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they're impregnable." The detective walked back into the living room. "They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in." He turned back towards the stairs.

"I don't understand," said Dimmock as Sherlock headed out on the landing.

"I'm giving you thirty-five seconds seconds to figure it out." No one understood to whom Sherlock was talking to, well… except Alice.

Her eyes danced across the room, until she stopped at the landing. The girl rushed to join her detective, to find him staring at the skylight on the landing. It only took her the remaining ten seconds to figure out what Sherlock was trying to say.

"Time's u-"

"The killer's a climber!" Alice exclaimed quickly. Sherlock nodded. He hopped up on a nearby box, allowing him to get closer to the skylight.

"He clings to the wall like an insect," Sherlock explained. He unhooked the latch and pushed the window upwards. "That's how he got in. Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight."

"You're not serious! Like Spider-Man?!" shouted Dimmock, slightly teed off.

"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon." Dimmock started laughing. Alice rolled her eyes before shooting him a look.

"Oh, ho-hold on!"

"And of course that's how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace." Sherlock stepped down and looked around again. "We have to find out what connects these two men." Alice, distracted by the talk, walked over to the books scattered up the side of the staircase. She headed down a few stairs and picked up one of them. It had fallen open, and the front page showed that it has been borrowed from West Kensington Library.

"Sherlock," she said as she climbed back up the stairs, "Will this do? It does count as a link... right?" Alice handed the detective what she had. Sherlock read it over before slamming the book shut.

"Good girl," said the man. He took the book with him as he headed down the stairs. John and Alice quickly followed behind.

* * *

After a short taxi journey during, the trio were once again on an escalator, this time inside West Kensington Library. Sherlock navigated his way to the aisle where the book he had with him came from.

"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died," Sherlock explained. Checking the reference number stuck to the bottom of the book's spine, he went to the correct place along the shelves and started pulling out books and examining them. Alice pulled one off the shelf from the other side, discovering something curious.

"Dr. Watson?" She asked. "Can you come help me?" John walked over and pulled out some books out along where Alice indicated. The more of the discovery was now visible.

"Sherlock," called out John. Sherlock turned and saw Alice and John staring into the gap left by the books they removed. Stepping over to them, he reached to the shelf and pulls out so many books with one hand. Pulling out another huge handful of books with his other hand, he revealed that spray painted on the back of the shelf were the same two symbols that were sprayed across the office at the bank. Alice took a few quick photos before the trio left.

* * *

Back at 221B, Alice was adding the new photos to the mirror. Sherlock and John were standing behind her, looking at the pictures.

"The killer went to the bank and left the first cipher for Van Coon. He panicked and returned to his apartment, locking himself inside in the process. A few hours later, he died," summed up Alice as she stepped back from her work. "The killer then found Lukis at the library. They wrote the cipher on the shelf where it will be seen. Lukis went home and later that night, he died as well." The girl sighed. "Why did they have to die, Sherlock?" Sherlock ran his fingers over the line painted across Sir William's face.

"Only the cipher can tell us," he answered. He thoughtfully tapped his finger against the photo as his expression sharpened. Alice knew what this meant. Sherlock had an idea. And it would probably lead to trouble.

* * *

The detective took his two companions to Trafalgar Square, from which they seemed to be heading towards the National Gallery.

"The world's run on codes and ciphers, you two," he explained to the confused pair behind him. "From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine John took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."

"I know that, but Sherlock-" Alice said before being cut off.

"... but it's all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it."

"Where are we headed?" John asked.

"I need to ask some advice..." Alice blinked. Did she hear him right?

"What?! Sorry?!" Sherlock threw John a dark look as the man smiled in disbelief.

"You heard me perfectly. I'm not saying it again."

"You need advice?"

"On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert."

Sherlock lead John and Alice towards the entrance to the National Gallery... and straight around it to the rear of the building where a young man had spray-stencilled onto a solid grey metal door the image of a policeman holding a rifle in his hands. The image had a pig's snout in place of a human nose. A large canvas bag was at the man's feet and he was holding spray cans in both hands. he is now adding the finishing touches to his 'artwork.' He continued spraying, unperturbed, as Sherlock, John and Alice approached him.

"Part of a new exhibition," he said without even looking at them.

"Very… interesting…" Alice said sarcastically.

"I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy." He laughed a little.

"Very catchy." The man continued spraying. Alice caught sight of the name he had signed with. Raz.

"I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner." Raz looked over at Sherlock. "Can we do this while I'm workin'?" Sherlock took out his phone from the confines of his coat, holding it out to Raz. The artist turned and tossed one of the cans in his hands to John, but it landed in Alice's hands instead. Raz took Sherlock's phone and scrolled through the photographs that were on it.

"Know the author?" Sherlock asked.

"Recognise the paint. It's like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."

"What about the symbols: d'you recognise them?" Raz squinted at the pictures.

"Not even sure it's a proper language."

"Two men have been murdered," said Alice. "And deciphering those symbols is the key to finding out who killed them."

"What, and this is all you've got to go on? It's hardly much, now, is it?"

"Are you gonna help us or not?!" The child snapped.

"... I'll ask around."

"Somebody must know something about it," Sherlock added. Before conversation was continued, a yell caught the group off guard. Two Community Support Officers were hurrying towards them. Sherlock instantly grabbed his phone from Raz. All three, with a confused Alice being left behind, ran off in the opposite directions. Alice laughed as she was left alone with the officers.

"I can explain..." she said. The officers said nothing. Alice remembered the paint can in her hands. "This isn't mine..." She laughed nervously before the officers dragged her off.

* * *

It took Alice an hour to be released from police custody. She got off almost scott free... except for the ASBO she now had on her. Anger built up in her veins as she walked back to 221B.

The girl opened and slammed the door to the flat as she reentered. Sherlock was standing at the fireplace again. The mirror was now almost completely covered because he had added several sheets of paper with various ciphers and pictograms on them. He had his head lowered and was nose deep in a book. He didn't even seemed phased by the slamming door. John was in the kitchen, but could still be seen from the living room. Alice stood there, arms crossed across her chest,and her eyes narrowed

"You've been a while," said Sherlock without even looking up or turning. "I told you Alice could handle herself, John."

"I'm not speaking to you," Alice said.

"Where were you?" John asked, walking into the living room. Alice blinked before turning to the doctor.

"I was with custody sergeants. Fingerprints and charge sheets..." Before John could even ask what had happened Alice continued. "Speaking of which, I need one of you to take me to court on Tuesday."

"What?" Sherlock asked absently. Alice snapped.

"Me, in court, on Tuesday!" Her voice was raised. "They're giving me an ASBO!"

"Good. Fine." Alice felt her hands ball up.

"Are you even listening to me?!" Sherlock slammed his book shut.

"This symbol: I still can't place it." Alice's eyes flashed with anger. Sherlock turned and put his book down. He walked over to the duo. "John. I need you to go to the police station. Take Alice with you. She needs to let go of her anger without me in the room."

"Sherlock, did you hear what she-" John went to ask before being interrupted.

"Ask about the journalist." He grabbed his coat from the back of the door. "His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements." Alice groaned and followed John and Sherlock downstairs and on the street."Gonna go and see Van Coon's P.A. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide." He walked off down the street. Alice sighed, pushing the loose strands of her hair back into place. John hailed to pair a taxi. Alice looked across the street as it pulled An Oriental-looking woman with dark hair and wearing dark sunglasses was standing on the other side of the road and taking a photograph. Her camera was aimed in their direction.

"Scotland Yard," said John, giving directions to the driver. Alice turned.

"John..."

"What?" Alice looked back across the street. There was no one there. She sighed.

"Nevermind. Let's just go..." The two got into the taxi and drove off.

* * *

They arrived at Scotland Yard a short while later. Alice was ultimately displeased further when she saw it was Dimmock who was giving them the diary.

As of current, Dimmock was standing at a desk and rummaging through a box of Brian Lukis' possessions. John and Alice stood at the other side.

"Your friend..." Dimmock began, striking up a conversation.

"Listen: whatever you say, I'm behind you one hundred percent," John told him.

"...he's an arrogant sod."

"That's just mild..." Alice muttered aloud. "People- including myself at the moment- say far worse than that on a regular basis. Things not meant for a person of my age." Dimmock pulled a small book from the box, handing it off to John.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he asked. "The journalist's diary?" John took the diary and flicked through it, opening it at a page. A boarding pass to Dalian Zhoushuizi International Airport to London Heathrow Airport nestled snugly inside. The two left rather quickly, following the one lead John had found while searching through the diary.

* * *

It took them to a shop down a little way. John scanned through the diary as they walked along. Alice spotted someone familiar ahead. Her dark eyes narrowed with a spark. She reached out to grab John by the coat to stop him, but it was too late. John- who had not been paying attention- collided with the man now before them. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock took an instant to see the people in front of him. He didn't even give John time to recover as he began to spit out in a rapid fire speech pattern.

"Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case," he said in a fast, steady pace. "I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information-"

"Sherlock…" John said, trying to get a word in.

"-credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here."

"Sherlock…"

"Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don't know where, but-"

"The shop across the street," Alice cut in, pointing to where she had mentioned. Sherlock looked at the shop, then at the pair with a frown.

"How can you tell?" he asked.

"Lukis' diary," John explained, showing Sherlock the entry in the book. "He was here, too. He wrote down the address." Alice turned and headed across the street, silent as a mouse. Sherlock and John followed after her.

* * *

The three walked into the shop. In Alice's opinion, it seemed mainly for tourists. The place consisted largely of decorative cats sitting up on their hind legs with one front paw raised. The paws on a few cats were waving back and forth. John greeted the shopkeeper politely before they had a look around. After a while, the shopkeeper lifted one of the cats from the desk.

"You want lucky cat?" asked the shopkeeper.

"No, thanks. No," said John.

"Ten pound. Ten pound!"

"No."

"I think your wife, she will like!"

"No, thank you." Alice laughed a little under her breath at John's misfortune as she walked over to one of the tables. On it was small, ceramic painted, handle-less cups. She looked over at Sherlock, who was examining a rack of clay statutes. With a roll of her eyes, Alice picked up one of the cups. She turned it over to look at the price tag. That's when she almost dropped it. Underneath the cup was a Chinese symbol stuck to it. It was the same symbols that was painted on the portrait at the bank and the shelf at the library.

"John. Found something," she said, gaining her detective's attention by accident. Sherlock walked over to his shadow and leaned over her shoulder. John walked over to them.

"The label there," said John.

"Yes, I see it," Sherlock responded.

"It's exactly the same as the other ciphers," finished Alice.

* * *

They made no time in leaving the shop. The three walked down the street as Sherlock began to explain rapid fire.

"It's an ancient number system! Hangzhou," he said. "These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library." Sherlock walked over to a nearby grocer's stand. Various boxes had handwritten signs on them, both in Chinese and English. Underneath were the costs, in both Hangzhou and English. Sherlock began to check the signs, looking at the symbols.

"Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect."

"It's a fifteen!" said John as he picked up on of the signs. It showed the upside-down eight. "What we thought was the artist's tag – it's a number fifteen."

"And the blindfold – the horizontal line? That was a number as well." Alice picked up one of the price tags depicting the next number.

"Found it!" she said, showing her find to the two men. "It's the Chinese number one. Yī."

"We've found it!" exclaimed John. Sherlock turned and walked away, prompting John to follow. Alice put the sign down and turned to follow. She froze when she saw someone. It was the woman from before, the same one outside of 221b. She still wore her dark sunglasses, and had her camera raised and focused on her. Someone walked between their line of view. When the person passed complete, the woman vanished. Alice shook her head to clear it before dashing after Holmes and Watson.

* * *

While Alice was still feeling uncomfortable about the woman,, the three were sitting in a restaurant across from the tourist shop, staking it out and waiting. Alice watched as Sherlock' hands wrote down two of the Hangzhou numbers along with their English translations on a paper napkin. John was writing notes across from him. For once, Alice wasn't writing anything down like she normally would be doing.

"Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium," John clarified. "What did they see?"

"It's not what they saw; it's what they both brought back in those suitcases," Sherlock corrected.

"And you don't mean duty free." A waitress brought over a plate of food and put it down in front of John. "Thank you."

"Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market."

"He lost five million. And then he made back all of it in a week," Alice muttered loud enough for the two to hear. John hummed a bit.

"That's how he made such easy money."

"He was a smuggler," John said as he took in a mouthful of the food.

"A guy like him – it would have been perfect."

"Van Coon was a businessman making frequent trips to Asia," Alice muttered once again. "Lukis was the same. He was a journalist writing about China. "

"Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off," finished Sherlock.

"But why did they die?" John asked. "I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?" Sherlock sat back as he was looped into a thought for a few seconds, then smiled as he realised the answer.

"What if one of them was light-fingered?"

"How d'you mean?"

"Stole something; something from the hoard."

"And the killer doesn't know which of them took it, so he threatens them both. Right." Sherlock looked out of the window towards the shop, then raised his eyes to the windows above it. Looking down to the ground floor level again, his gaze sharpened.

"Remind me… when was the last time that it rained?" Alice opened her mouth to speak, but Sherlock had already stood up and left. Alice gathered their things and followed, with a exasperated John behind them.

* * *

Over the road, Sherlock bent down to the Yellow Pages in front of a door near the shop as John and Alice caught up to him.. The plastic wrapper still had drops of water on it, and the top of it was broken open a little. Sherlock ran his fingers over the top of the wet exposed pages of the directory.

"It's been here since Monday," he clarified. He straightened up and pressed the doorbell. He only waited a couple of seconds, then looks to his right and headed off in that direction. There was an alleyway beside the flat. The three walked down the alley. "No-one's been in that flat for at least three days."

"They could have gone on a holiday," Alice suggested. "That's what people do isn't it?"

"Do I leave the windows open when we go on holiday?" Sherlock looked up to see a cantilevered metal fire escape above his head.

"We never go on holiday." Sherlock took a few steps back. Taking a short run at it, he jumped up and grabbed the end of the ladder. The fire escape was pulled down by the force of Sherlock's weight until the man touched the ground. Sherlock ran up the steps toward the open window. At the exact moment he reached the top, the ladder swung back into place.

"Sherlock!" John called out. Sherlock did nothing as he climbed in through the window. John and Alice looked at each other before running around to the front.

"Someone else has been here," Alice could faintly hear from the flat above as she and John made it to the front door. "Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase just like I did." John rang the doorbell to said flat.

"D'you think maybe you could let us in this time?" He said loudly.

"He's most likely lost in thought," Alice told him. John bent down and pushed open the letterbox, ignoring her.

"Can you not keep doing this, please?" Alice sighed. She could barely hear Sherlock's next response over the distance between them and the noise of the city. She knelt down beside John.

"Repeat that?" She shouted.

"Somebody's been in here before me!" Sherlock's voice came, only louder. John released the letterbox and stood up. He sighed in pure irritation.

"We're wasting our breath," he muttered as Alice leaned up against the doorframe. She watched as John walked out a few paces before turning back and ringing the doorbell again.

"Any time you want to include us." There was no answer.

"Is this how it was for you and Sherlock when I wouldn't let you into Van Coon's flat?" Alice asked out of curiosity. John nodded.

"Yeah, and it annoys me half the time." Alice felt herself go red as John shook his head in frustration. There was a pause of silence. John tried again to get Sherlock's attention again, and was getting rather frustrated from Alice's perspective.

"'No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with…'" John mocked before walking back over to the door and flipping the letterbox open. "'... my _MASSIVE INTELLECT_!'" He dropped the letterbox again. Alice raised her hand and rang the doorbell. Still no answer. Alice perked up when she saw John getting ready to just leave. It was at that moment that the door opened. Alice stood up as Sherlock came out of the building and John sighed.

"The, uh, milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell," Sherlock told the two. Alice raised an eyebrow at Sherlock's hoarse voice. "Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago."

"Somebody?" Sherlock nodded.

"Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her." He looked down and bent to pick something off the floor.

"But how, exactly?" Sherlock picked up a folded envelope that was on the ground. He unfolded the envelope and looked at the front of it.

"Maybe we could start with this." He walked out of the doorway, closing the door behind him, and headed off down the road. Alice looked up at Sherlock, her eyes resting on the small glimpses of his neck that she could see. There were faint bruises forming.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Sherlock looked down at her.

"I'm fine." Sherlock coughed as soon as he finished his sentence. Alice sighed.

"Liar."

* * *

Sherlock dragged John and Alice to the National Antiquities Museum, which Alice had figured out which the envelope was from by now. She watched as Sherlock was pacing around a display area while he interviewed one of the employees about the owner of the flat they had been to, whom most likely worked here as well.

"When was the last time that you saw her?" Sherlock asked.

"Three days ago, um, here at the museum," the employee answered. Alice began to look around the museum, growing bored of the question-and-answer session. Her eyes fell on a glass case displaying some clay teapots. While most of them served to be dull, one of the pots shown off a shine.

"This morning they told me she'd resigned just like that." Alice looked over at another display that contained jade figurines. She looked over at a piece of artwork nearby.

"Just left her work unfinished."

"What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?" Alice looked over as John, Sherlock and the employee began to leave the room. She darted after them.

* * *

The employee brought the three to the basement of the museum. The lights flickered to life as he lead them deeper in.

"She does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony," he explained, answering Sherlock's question from earlier. "So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here."

He lead the them to the open stack and started turning a handle at the end to widen the gap. While John and Alice stood behind the employee to look into the stack, Alice could see Sherlock wandering off into the shadows further down the room. Giving a quick look at John, Alice followed Sherlock. Her pace slowed when her dark eyes landed on what he had spotted.

On a stand was a life-sized sculpture of a woman. Yellow paint had been spray painted across the front of it. An almost horizontal straight line went across the eyes, and over the body has been sprayed the open upside down eight with the almost horizontal line above it. John and the employee soon joined them, staring at the statue.

* * *

Alice snapped a few pictures of the statue before the three residents of Baker Street left the museum. They had been in the there for quite some time, because when the left, night had fallen upon London. Alice wrung her hands together in an effort to stimulate the blood flow throughout her body.

"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao," stated Sherlock as they headed down the steps that lead up to the museum.

"If she's still alive," added John.

"Sherlock!" The trio turned as someone approached them. Alice's dark eyes narrowed into daggers. It was Raz, the young spray painter from earlier that day.

"What do you want?" Alice said in a rather sharp tone that borderlined harsh. Raz ignored her and turned to Sherlock.

"Found something you'll like," he said. He jogged off. Sherlock followed after him. And then so did John. Alice rolled her eyes before running to catch up with them.

* * *

Shortly afterwards the three of them were running across Hungerford Bridge, heading towards the south side of the river. Alice could have sworn she felt like someone was watching them, but she brushed the feeling away as they continued onwards.

Raz led the three across the under-croft. There were a few people around here, but they were easily ignored. They manner of which they spoke reminded Alice of... not-so-pleasant memories due to their vocabularies.

"If you want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say?" Sherlock said, "People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message." As they approached a wall, Raz pointed to a particular area that was heavily-graffitied

"There," he said. "I spotted it earlier." Amongst all the other paint, there were slashes of the yellow paint forming Chinese symbols. Some of them were already partially painted over by other artists' tags and pictures. Alice took a quick photo of it.

"They have been in here." Sherlock turned to Raz. "And that's the exact same paint?"

"Yeah."

"John, Alice, if we're going to decipher this code, we're gonna need to look for more evidence." Alice sighed. This was going to be a very long night.

Sherlock split away from both John and Alice, leaving his assistant and his blogger to search alone.

* * *

The pair walked along a nearby underpass. Alice looked around, shining her torch along the walls. Her eyes danced across the graffiti that was scribbled on it.

Alice and John soon left the underpass and came to a railway. The torches they carried lot up the drops of yellow paints on the rails. Alice raised an eyebrow as they followed the trail. John raised his light to shine on a brick wall. He took a step back, leaving both him and the girl he had with him in a state of surprise. The entire wall was decorated with large, yellow Chinese numbers. John tried to call Sherlock, but he wouldn't answer. In the end, Watson dashed away to find Sherlock. Alice took a quick photo of the wall before following.

* * *

It took them about five minutes to find the detective. He was looking at a freight car.

"Answer your phone!" John called out. Sherlock turned towards them. "I've been calling you! We've found it." In a silent agreement, all three turned and ran off back to the wall.

* * *

John led Sherlock to the wall, with Alice following a few paces behind. When they arrived, Alice's eyes widened. The symbols that were once on the walls were gone. As if they were never there in the first place.

"They painted it over..." Alice muttered, running her fingers through her hair. "You have to be joking me..." Sherlock shined his torch around the area as Alice and John continued to stare at the wall in disbelief.

"I don't understand," said Dr. Watson. "It-it was here..." The man stumbled backwards. "... ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti! I'm not imagining things. Alice, you saw it." Alice nodded.

"Yes " answered the girl. "It was there. Clear as crystal."

"Somebody doesn't want me to see it," concluded Sherlock. Suddenly, he turned and grabbed the sides of John's head in both hands.

"Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing...?" John asked, slightly unnerved.

"Shh, John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes."

"No, what? Why? Why?" Alice covered her mouth in an attempt to keep her composure. She reached into her coat pocket. Sherlock lowered his hands to hold John by the upper arms. "What are you doing?!" Sherlock began to slowly spin them around on the spot, staring intensely into John's eyes."

"I need you to maximise your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"

"Yeah."

"Can you remember it?"

"Yes, definitely."

"Can you remember the pattern?"

"Yes!"

"How much can you remember it?"

"Well, don't worry-"

"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate."

"Yeah, well, don't worry – I remember all of it." Sherlock didn't seem to believe him.

"Really?"

"Yeah, well at least I would-" John finally managed to pull himself free at this point. "If you would listen!" Alice pulled out her mobile from her coat. "Alice took a photograph before we went to find you." Alice stood between the two as she pulled up the photo she had taken. Despite the rush she had been in, the picture had come out clearly. She gave it to Sherlock with some hesitance. Alice saw a look of embarrassment on Sherlock's face.

* * *

When they returned to the flat, Alice had printed out her photo. It had been blown up and cut into smaller sections. Sherlock had taken the liberty to write the numbers' values underneath the corresponding symbol after Alice had fallen asleep.

The next day, Alice had woken up a few minutes after Sherlock. She watched Sherlock stare at the photographs. They had been stuck onto the mirror with the others.

Alice stood up off of the sofa, walking over to where Sherlock had only run a hand through her hair when Sherlock began speaking.

"Always in pairs," he stated. John- who Alice had noticed was asleep at the dining room table, sat up. He turned his head, still dazed and confused from his sleep. He hummed a bit out of confusion. "Numbers come with partners." John looked around the flat with a blank look.

"God, I need to sleep..." he muttered. Alice rolled her eyes.

"And you're the one who sent me to bed last night," she said. "If I remember correctly, you said I needed it." John looked over at the girl.

"You're ten years old. You do need it."

"Why did he paint it so near the tracks?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the other two.

"No idea."

"Well," Alice said as she woke up a little more, "More than a thousand people pass by there every day. If it were me, I was have chosen a less public place. Maybe he's a train obsessed man living a flat above the station?" Sherlock ignored her notion.

"Just twenty minutes..." muttered John.

"Of course," said Sherlock suddenly. Alice raised an eyebrow out of confusion. He was smiling. He found something. "Of course! He wants information. He's trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back." He ran a finger over the symbols. "Somewhere here in the code."

"How are we going to solve it?" asked Alice. Sherlock pulled off three of the photographs. He turned towards the door.

"Alice, hurry up," he instructed. "We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao." Alice nodded and rushed off to get dressed. Just before she entered the bathroom, she heard John.

"Oh, good..." said the doctor. And he didn't sound too pleased.

* * *

About thirty minutes later, Sherlock had pulled John and Alice back to the National Antiquities Museum. They had pulled the same employee they had spoken to the day before. Ironically, they were also in the same display room as before.

"Two men who travelled back from China were murdered," stated Sherlock to the employee. "And their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals."

"Soo Lin Yao's in danger," John added. "Now, that cipher – it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well."

"Look, I've tried everywhere," said the employee. "Um, friends, colleagues. I-I don't know where she's gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away." Alice sighed at the loss of information. Sherlock looked on the brink of frustration at this point. Trying to distract herself from the detective's current status, Alice's eyes wandered over to the glass case that displayed the clay teapots. She raised an eyebrow before walking over to the case.

"I'm wondering if you could tell me a little bit about these teapots?" Alice asked without looking back. She could feel the stares on her. "Just out of curiosity."

"Th-the pots were her obsession," the employee explained. "Um, they need urgent work. If-if they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently you have to just keep making tea in them." Alice hummed softly to herself.

"Alice, now isn't the time to be curious," said Sherlock.

"I know," said the girl, turning to face the three men. "But yesterday, I took notice of the teapots. Yesterday only one was shining. Now there're two."

* * *

The Baker Street residents- mostly Sherlock- had made the decision to visit the museum later on that day. John left to his work, leaving only Sherlock and Alice. According to the detective, he had to figure out what had happened to the pots during the night.

Alice stood in waiting behind Sherlock as they snuck into the museum. They stood in waiting, allowing night to fall. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice caught a figure in the dark.

The figure reached into the display case that held the teapots, taking one of them. She began to work on it. That's when Sherlock moved out of the shadows and towards her, silent as a mouse. Alice followed after as quietly as she could. Eventually, the two were standing behind her.

"Fancy a biscuit with that?" Sherlock asked to get her attention. The figure- to whom Alice could see was female by now- turned towards the pair, dropping the teapot in the process. Sherlock caught the item before it could crash on the floor.

"Centuries old. Don't wanna break that." He slowly straightened up and handed the teapot back to her. As the woman took it, Sherlock reached out and flicked a switch on the desk, turning on the lights underneath the surface. Alice could clearly see the face of a young Asian woman. Soo Lin Yao. The child gave a soft smile to her.

"Hello," she said.


	8. The Black Lotus

**Chapter Eight: The Black Lotus**

* * *

Sherlock had called John quickly, bringing him from 221B to the museum. All of the Baker Street residents were gathered around Soo Lin and a table. They were waiting for her to speak.

"You saw the cipher," Soo Lin finally said. "Then you know he is coming for me."

"You've been clever to avoid him so far," remarked Sherlock.

"I had to finish... to finish this work. It's only a matter of time. I know he will find me?"

"Can you tell us who he is?" Alice asked. "Or if you've met him before?" Soo Lin nodded.

"When I was a girl, living back in China. I recognise his... 'signature'."

"The cipher," Sherlock said.

"Only he would do this. Zhi Zhu."

"Zhi Zhu?" John asked out of confusion.

"The spider," translated Sherlock. Soo Lin put her right foot on her opposite knee, undoing the laces to her shoe. She pulled it off. On the bottom of her heel was a tattoo of a black lotus flower inside a circle.

"You know this mark?" Soo Lin asked.

"Yes," answered Alice, much to everyone's surprise. "It's the mark of the Tong." There was silence. "They used to commence their operations close to where I was raised. A horrible place to have a bunch children, really."

"What's the Tong...?" John asked.

"An ancient crime syndicate based in China," Sherlock answered. John nodded.

"Every foot soldier bears the mark," Soo Lin continued, "Everyone who hauls for them."

"Hauls?" John asked, once again left out of the loop. Soo Lin looked up at him. That's when he finally got it, given by the shocked expression John gave. "Y-you mean you were a smuggler?" Soo Lin lowered her gaze as she slid her shoe back on.

"I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood. No way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses."

"Who are they?" Sherlock asked.

"They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds' worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England." Soo Lin smiled a little. "They gave me a new job here. Everything was good. A new life."

"But then the Black Lotus and Zhi Zhu came looking for you," Alice concluded. "Right?"

"Yes." Soo Lin swallowed something as tears brimmed her eyes. "I had hoped after five years… Maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave. A small community like ours-they are never very far away." Soo Lin wiped away a few tears that had fallen off of her face. "He came to my flat. He asked me to help him track down something that was stolen."

"And you've no idea what it was?" John asked.

"I refused to help."

"Er…" Alice muttered, trying to rack her brain for a question. "I'm guessing you knew him well back in China, then?" Soo Lin nodded.

"Oh yes." She looked up at the three. "He's my brother." Alice blinked in surprise at the statement, her eyebrows raised a bit. "Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus, or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one they call Shan – the Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting."

Once her story was done, Sherlock dug out the photographs from before, laying them on the table. The closest one was Sir William's portrait.

"Can you decipher these?" he asked. Soo Lin leaned forward. She pointed at the number beside the portrait.

"These are numbers."

"Yes, we know." Soo Lin pointed to another photograph.

"Here. The line across the man's eyes. It's the Chinese number one."

"And this one is fifteen," Alice finished, pointing towards the other photo. "Do you know what the code is?"

"All the smugglers know it. It's based upon a book-" Before Soo Lin could finish her sentence, the lights were cut off. Soo Lin's face filled with dread. Sherlock straightened up, looking around. Alice tensed up.

"He's here," Soo Lin said softly, her voice filled with terror. "Zhi Zhu. He has found me." Before anyone could speak again, Sherlock was off as he raced out of the room.

"Sherlock," Alice called out softly. "Get back here!" But Sherlock was already out of the room. She sighed. John turned to the two females. He grabbed Soo Lin's hand.

"Come here, both of you," he ordered. John pulled Soo Lin across the room, with Alice following behind. He took them to a cupboard, large enough to fit the three. "Get in. Get in!" John, Alice and Soo Lin climbed inside, waiting in stressed tension. Alice felt adrenaline rush through her body. Sweat began to prick the back of her neck. This was the only emotion she couldn't hide. Fear.

Alice almost jumped up when she heard a gunshot ring throughout the museum. Her dark blue eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. John looked up and turned to the two girls.

"I have to go and help," he said. "Alice, bolt the door after me." The child nodded. John stood and hurried off to find Sherlock. Alice could hear gunshots ringing as she got up. Soo Lin grabbed her by the wrist. Alice looked down at her.

"I'll bolt the door," the woman stated. Although she was terrified, Alice nodded. The young child sat back down while Soo Lin took a breath. She slowly began to crawl out from the cupboard. Alice peeked out from her hiding place. Soo Lin peered over the top of it before slowly standing up. Behind her, a Chinese man a little older than her silently walked up and stopped just behind her, staring at her intently. Alice gripped the edge of her coat tightly to keep herself quiet.

As if sensing him, Soo Lin turned slowly around, and then gazed at him

"Liang," she said, hesitating for a moment. "Dàgē." She reached out, cupping his face in her hands. "Qǐng nǐ." Alice shut her eyes as the man raised a gun he had securely in his hand. There was a gunshot. Alice's hands flew up to her ears, an old habit she had bulit up when she was but a small child. She bit her lip to the point where it could draw blood. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes. There she was. Soo Lin Yao, her hand was outstretched on the table.

She was dead.

Alice pushed open the cupboard door, getting out of her hiding place. She stood there for a moment. If only she had gone to bolt the door. The probabilities ran through her mind. Her hand shook.

Alice only returned to reality when the door to the room then burst open. It was John. He made his way carefully around the room. Alice ran over to him. The man groaned when he saw Soo Lin's body.

* * *

Sherlock arrived in the room soon after. Not only was he frustrated with Soo Lin's death, but he was angry at the gunman. Or the fact that Scotland Yard had not caught him yet. Thus sparked a trip to New Scotland Yard.

John, Sherlock and Alice stood away from D.I. Dimmock. He had his back to them as he rummaged through paperwork on a desk.

"How many murders is it gonna take before you start believing that this maniac's out there?" Dimmock turned and walked in between Alice and Sherlock, heading for another desk. Alice narrowed her eyes.

"Someone was gunned down tonight, Dimmock," she hissed. "A young girl. Your body count's up to three in three days." She whipped around to face the man. "Your job is to find him. And you haven't been doing that, have you?" Sherlock walked across in front of his shadow. Alice moved closer to John as Sherlock walked to Dimmock.

"Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers," he stated. "A gang called the Black Lotus operating here in London right under your nose." Sherlock leaned a little closer to Dimmock, finally getting the D.I. to look at him.

"Can you prove that?" he asked. Sherlock straightened up. Alice sighed. He shouldn't have asked that.

* * *

For whatever reason, Sherlock sent Alice home afterwards back to 221B. The girl wanted to put up a protest, but it was to no avail. Sherlock had made his decision.

Alice took off her coat when she arrived back at the flat. The first thing she did was head for the kitchen. It was late, and she needed food. Sherlock may not eat while on a case, unless he was forced to by either Alice, John or just plain fatigue, but that doesn't mean Alice didn't.

Alice had just begun to sit down when Sherlock and John returned. She pulled the utensil that was in her mouth out of it as John sat down in his chair.

"That was quicker than I expected," she remarked. "Did you find what you wanted?"

"More or less," John answered.

"Not just a criminal organisation," recited off Sherlock. "It's a cult. Her brother was corrupted by one of its leaders."

"Soo Lin said a name."

"Yes, Shan. General Shan." Alice sighed, running her hands through her already messy dark hair.

"Neither Scotland Yard or us are even close to finding them," she said with disappointment. "I'm starting to-"

"Wrong." Alice up looked with confused look.

"Wrong? How am I wrong?"

"We've got almost all we need to know." Alice was still confused, giving Sherlock a quizzical look. "She gave us most of the missing pieces." Sherlock looked around to the other two, as if he was waiting for them to reply. There was a minute of silence.

"Why did he need to visit his sister?" Sherlock began to explain out of impatience, "Why did he need her expertise?"

"She worked at the museum," said John.

"Exactly."

"An expert in antiquities. Mmm, of course. I see."

"Valuable antiquities, John. Ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China's home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao's revolution."

"And you think that the Black Lotus is selling them?" Alice asked, finally understanding what Sherlock was saying. Sherlock ignored her.

The detective got out his laptop, sitting at the dining room table with it. Alice abandoned her food and went to stand by him along with John. Sherlock had pulled up an auction website.

"Check for the dates…" Sherlock muttered as he found what he was looking for. "Here." He gestured over to a picture of two vases. "Arrived from China four days ago." Sherlock ran a finger down the list of details before stopping at the sale information. The source was stated as Anonymous.

"Anonymous. Vendor doesn't give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East."

"There was one in Lukis's suitcase," Alice said slowly as the pieces fell into place in her mind, "The other one was in Van Coon's." Sherlock nodded as he searched among the website.

"... antiquities sold at auction..." he muttered as the results came up. "Look, here's another one. Arrived from China a month ago: Chinese ceramic statue, sold four hundred thousand." John grabbed Lukis's diary, flipping through the pages before stopping at an entry. He looked up at the screen.

"Ah, look: a month before that – a Chinese painting, half a million," he read off to Sherlock. Alice took control of the website, scrolling through the list.

"All of these are from anonymous," she stated, "They were stealing them from China. One by one, they snuck them in the country." John looked at Lukis' diary again before looking at a copy of Van Coon's calendar.

"And every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China."

"So what if one of them got greedy when they were in China?" Sherlock asked. "What if one of them stole something?"

"That's why Zhi Zhu's come." Before the conversation could continue further, a knock on the door interrupted the three. They turned, facing Mrs. Hudson at the door.

"Sorry," she said, "Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"A young man's outside with crates of books."

* * *

Alice watched from her spot on the sofa as police officers carried another crate in the living room. This added to the maze of crates already in there.

"I am not going to question what you're doing, Sherlock," said Alice. "I'm only asking why you're doing it."

"Soo Lin said that the code was based upon a book," Sherlock explained. "So, the numbers are references." Alice sat up, leaning up against the back of the sofa. She looked at him with the same look she had given him multiple times in the past few hours.

"To books?"

"To specific pages and specific words on those pages."

"The first numbers were fifteen and one. What does that mean?"

"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read."

"Okay. So what's the message?" John asked.

"Depends on the book. That's the cunning of the book code. Has to be one that they both owned." John looked at the crates around the room, either labelled "Van Coon" or "Lukis". Alice put her face in her hands. She didn't dislike reading, it's just that this was going to be a very long night.

"Okay, right. Well, this shouldn't take too long, should it?" John walked over to the nearest crate, opening it up before sighing. Sherlock opened another crate, taking out the books and observing their covers. John took a handful from his crate and carried them over to the dining table and sat down. Alice pulled a crate up next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Dimmock walking in the flat. He held up an evidence bag to Sherlock.

"We found these, at the museum," he said. Alice stood up and walked over to him, getting a better look at the contents. It was the photographs they had shown to Soo Lin Yao. "Is this your writing?" Alice snatched up the bag from Dimmock.

"No, but they are my photographs," she said. "Thank you for returning them."

"Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us," John explained as Alice returned to her spot on the sofa. Dimmock nodded and turned back to Sherlock, who was still unloading his crate.

"Anything else I can do?" Alice looked up at the D.I. with a confused look on her face. "To assist you, I mean?" Alice grinned. Now he was getting it.

"Some silence right now would be marvellous," Sherlock said without looking up from his work. Dimmock stared at him, then looked across to John, who shook his head apologetically. After a second, Dimmock turned and left the room. Alice put the photos down beside her, pulling up a crate. She opened it and began to assist the boys in their search. She heard Sherlock repeat off two words that were in two pair of books.

Alice looked up from her crate, watching Sherlock deposit two books on John's pile. She looked at the clock. It was barely even ten thirty. She sighed, running her pale fingers through her hair for what seemed like the third time that day. Alice was right. This was going to be a very, very long night.

* * *

Harsh beams of sunlight danced their way into 221B as a beeping noise ricocheted around the quiet, waking the only two sleeping residents.

Alice blinked before shutting her eyes completely at the light. She sat up, pushing off a book that was on her chest before yawning. She saw a tired John, waking up as well. Most of the crates had been shifted around and moved. Sherlock was still awake. After living with the Holmes man for as long as she did, Alice had learned not to question how long he could stay awake. The current record as about thirty-six hours.

John had soon left for his work, leaving Alice and Sherlock to look through the books.

Alice dropped the book she had finished in the slowly increasing pile next to her that had been growing for the past few hours. She rubbed her eyes before reaching over for another one.

"A book that everybody would own." Alice looked up at these words. Sherlock had abandoned the crates and pulled three books off of their own bookshelf. Putting them on top of the nearest crate, he opened the first book. "Fifteen. Entry one." He moved on to the another book he took down, and by his expression, he didn't find what he was looking for.

As Sherlock closed the book, there was a slam from the other bedroom. John was home. Alice sat up as John entered the room.

"I need to get some air," said Sherlock before his flatmate could even get a word out. "We're going out tonight."

"Actually, I've, er, got a date," said John with a smug smile. Alice blinked for a second.

"What?" she said, staring cluelessly.

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun."

"I know what a date is."

"And that's what I was suggesting," said Sherlock.

"No it wasn't… at least I hope not." There was a second of awkward silence left in the air until Alice cleared her throat, breaking it.

"So… er…" she said, trying to find the right words to break the silence. "Where are you taking her?"

"Er, cinema," John answered.

"Oh, dull, boring, predictable," Sherlock interjected. He took out a piece of paper from his pocket as he walked across to John. Alice raised an eyebrow. What was he doing? Sherlock handed the paper to John. "Why don't you try this?" John took the paper and looked down at it. Even with her limited perspective, Alice could see a telephone number on it, allowing access to the box office for the Yellow Dragon Circus. What?

"In London for one night only," Sherlock continued as John laughed. He offered the paper back to his flatmate.

"Thanks, but I don't come to you for dating advice."

About a few hours later, John was off to the circus with his date. It wasn't less than ten minutes later that Sherlock told Alice to get ready. Out of pure curiosity for whatever Sherlock was doing, Alice complied.

She followed Sherlock as they made their way down the London streets and the the theater where the circus would be performing. Now Alice got it. They were crashing John's date.

Alice followed Sherlock into the theatre.

"You know he's not going to be pleased," she said. "Why are we here?"

"I have my reasons," Sherlock answered before they walked up to the box office. John and a woman were already standing there.

"No, I don't think so," John told the manager. "We only booked two."

"And then I phoned back and got two for myself and Alice as well," said Sherlock as they approached the two. John looked up in disbelief and turned. Alice bit the inside of her cheek. She was right. John didn't look pleased with Sherlock's action.

Sherlock offered his hand to the woman John was with.

"I'm Sherlock," he introduced. "The girl beside me is Alice." Alice smiled faintly. The woman glanced at John momentarily, then turned back to the new arrivals before shaking Sherlock's hand a little nervously.

"Er, hi," she said. At least she wasn't the only uncomfortable one in the room.

"Hello." As soon as Sherlock was finished with his greeting, he turned and walked away. John followed after him, leaving both the woman and Alice alone.

Alice laughed nervously.

"I knew he wasn't just being nice..." she muttered under her breath before turning to the woman. "Should we go after them?" The woman nodded.

"Yes..." she said. She headed off in the direction the two boys went, with Alice following after. There was a weird pause for silence before the woman spoke again. "I knew John had a flatmate, but I didn't expect his flatmate to have a daughter." Alice turned bright red.

"Sherlock isn't my father," she corrected.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You two look alike, so I assumed-" Alice sighed.

"No, it's fine. But I'm positive that we are not related in any way." The woman nodded.

_'If anything, I'm a stray cat that he took in off the streets..._' Alice thought as they rounded a corner, hearing a familiar voice.

"... while I'm trying to get off with Sarah!" Yeah, that was John's voice. Alice and the woman, presumably Sarah, stood behind him and Sherlock as John turned. He smiled awkwardly. "Heyyy." Sherlock rolled his eyes before turning and heading up the stairs. Alice followed after him, hoping to avoid any more awkward conversations

Alice looked around at the performance area that had been set up. There was a stage in the back of the large hall with its curtains closed. However, it was apparent that the stage was not going to be used. A large circle of candles was set on the middle of the floor, allowing the room to be dimly lit. Anyone who had purchased a ticket gathered around it, since there wasn't any seating. To Alice's surprise, there was enough room to allow everyone a full view.

Alice stood in front of Sarah and John, whom were standing side by side while Sherlock stood behind them with his back to them. Alice could hear John's voice.

"You said circus," John said in a harsh whisper. "This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is ... art."

"This is not their day job," Sherlock whispered back.

"No, sorry, I forgot. They're not a circus; they're a gang of international smugglers." Alice bit her lip. So that's why Sherlock was so keen on coming here.

Alice snapped to attention when she heard a drumbeat, starting to performance. An ornately costumed Chinese woman with a heavily painted face walked into the center of the circle and looked out at the audience before raising a hand in the air. The drumming ceased. The woman walked across the circle to a large object covered with a cloth. She pulled it back to reveal an antique-looking crossbow on a stand. She picked up a long thick wooden arrow with white feathers at one end and a vicious metal point at the other and showed it to the audience. She fitted it into place in the crossbow. Straightening up, she pulled a single small white feather from her headdress and again shows it to the audience. On the rear of the crossbow was a small metal cup. She gently dropped the feather into it. Instantly, the arrow was released and shot across the room. In an instant, it was embedded into a large board on the other side of the room.

Instrumental music began once again, and the audience applauded as a new character entered the circle, wearing chainmail and an ornate head mask. He held his arms out to the sides. Two men came over and started to attach heavy chains and straps to him, strapping his now-folded arms in front of him and then backing him up against the board and chaining him to it.  
"Classic Chinese escapology act," Sherlock whispered. Alice looked up at him as John hummed.

"The crossbow's on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires." Alice looked forward again to watch the performance.

The Opera Singer loaded another arrow into the crossbow. The men attached more padlocks and chains to the warrior. One of them pulled a chain tight, yanking the warrior's head back against the board. The warrior cried out in pain as the men looped the chains through solid rings attached to the board and secured him to it., who cries out again. They stepped away. The music began building in intensity and cymbals crashed unexpectedly.

"Oh, Gawd! I'm sorry!" Alice heard Sarah apologize from behind. Alice watched as the Opera Singer picks up a small knife and displayed it to the audience.  
"She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl," Sherlock continued to explain.

The Opera Singer did then just what Sherlock predicted. She reached up to a small sandbag hanging on a long cable above the crossbow. She stabbed the knife into the bottom of the sack. Sand began to trickle out. The warrior began to pull at his chains. tugs at his chains. The sandbag's cable was looped over a pulley and a metal ball was attached to the other end. As the sand continued to pour out of the bag, the weight lowered towards the bowl at the back of the crossbow. The warrior soon managed to get one hand free. The warrior then got his other hand free and started pulling at the chains around his neck. The weight was now only a few feet above the bowl. The warrior cries out again as he pulled at his chains. The weight lowered even further downward. As it almost reached the edges of the bowl, the warrior managed to loosen the chains around his neck and struggled to free himself.

In an instant, the weight touched down into the bowl. The arrow streaked across the room. With a split second to spare, the warrior pulled free of the chains and dropped down. The arrow stuck into the board. The audience begins to applaud. Alice could hear John and Sarah's amazement from behind.

"Thank God."

"My God!" As she applauded, Alice felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Alice," John whispered. "Have you seen Sherlock?" Alice turned. Only standing behind her now were John and Sarah. She shook her head.

"I thought he was with you," she whispered back. There was a pause before the applause ceased, drawing John's and Alice's attention back to the performance.

"Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlit shores of the Yangtze River," said the Opera Singer, "We present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird-spider." As she walked away, a masked acrobat descended from the ceiling, rolling through the air as the broad red band wrapped around his waist unraveled. The audience applauded as he stopped a couple of feet above the ground, holding his body parallel to the floor.

Descending to the floor, the acrobat removed the band from around his waist and split it, revealing that it was made up of two strips of material. He wrapped it around his arms before running around the circle and taking his weight on the strips, lifting into the air and flying around in a circle several feet above the ground, the red bands soaring out behind him. Alice would be watching the performance if something didn't catch her eye. On the other side of the circle, the closed curtains on the stage begin to billow in one particular place. She kept her eyes fixated on it. She knew for a fact that fluttering curtains was a bad thing.

Suddenly, Sherlock was propelled backwards through the curtains, straight over the edge of the stage and onto the floor a few feet below. So that's where he went. Crashing onto his back, he struggles to get upright again but is too winded and can't move much as the warrior comes flying out of the curtains and onto the floor in front of him. John is on the move straightaway, running towards the warrior as he raises a knife and prepares to plunge it downwards. John charges straight into him, pushing him back against the edge of the stage but the warrior lashes out with one foot, sending John stumbling across the room.

While the rest of the audience fled from the fight, one person was heading towards it. That was Sarah, who had pulled the large arrow from the painted board. She came charging across the hall while John was still stumbling across the floor trying to catch his balance. Alice caught him before standing upright under his weight. Her eyes widened as they caught the warrior heading towards Sherlock who is still lying on the floor– and the warrior had a sword in one hand. As he raised the sword above his head, he failed to notice Sarah racing across the floor. She slammed one end of the arrow over the top of the warrior's head. He cried out in pain. Before he can react or retaliate to the attack, she swung the arrow sideways and smashed it across his ribs. She instantly delivered a second blow to the same area and he falls to the ground, grunting and almost unconscious.

As Sarah straightened up, breathless, Sherlock finally managed to sit up. He leaned forward to the warrior's right foot, pulling off his shoe to reveal a tattoo on his heel. Alice and John walked over to them. Although he could stand, John almost was doubled over in pain and was still trying to catch his breath. Sherlock scrambled to his feet as John grabbed Sarah's hand and started to pull her towards the exit. As the three raced off, Alice took a quick glance at the body before running towards the rest of them.

* * *

Their next location was New Scotland Yard. It appeared to Alice that they had been visiting this place a great deal recently.

Sherlock had been trying heavily to explain what had happened at the theater to a not-so-pleased Inspector Dimmock.

"I sent a couple of cars," explained the D.I., "The old hall is totally deserted."

"Look, I saw the mark at the circus – that tattoo that we saw on the two bodies: the mark of the Tong," Sherlock repeated for what seemed like the tenth time. Dimmock turned to face the small crowd of four that was following him.

"Lukis and Van Coon were part of a-a smuggling operation," John added. "Now, one of them stole something when they were in China; something valuable."

"These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back."

"Get what back?" asked Dimmock. No one said anything. Sherlock even turned away.

"We…" Alice said exasperated. "We don't know what it was…" Two of her fingers locked together behind her back, looping around each other multiple times.

"You don't know," Dimmock muttered. Sherlock still hadn't turned to face him. "Mr Holmes…"

At this point, Dimmock had sat down at his desk.

"I've done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something," said the Inspector. At this, Sherlock lifted his head. Alice felt euphoria rush through her body as she returned her arms to her side. "I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I'll have something to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime."

* * *

**Please excuse my long absence with this long chapter! School has gotten a hold of me. As my spring break is coming up this week, I do hope I'll be able to get the final chapter of the Blind Banker up and ready for editing soon! **


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